A.collin

There he sits with silver rimmed glasses.
Has his judgment on all that passes.
There s not a thing he dose not know,
where you've been,where to go.
Always ready to give his view,
always somthing,always new.
Been no where ,but knows each place,
every custom,every race.
where's he been?
The isle of white,just ask him he'll put you right.
His four laws,his car ,his son getting wed,
a million times its all been said.
Here come's story time again,
never deviates,always the same.
Morning paper read back to back,every story every fact.
Wars,money,stocks,and shares,his del boy trotter "How win how
dears"
His cooking second to none,
even better than your dear old mum.
Lived in London for so time,street wise man,oow good times!
Falls asleep apon his throne,
sacred moments from his tone.
Then like an ogre he comes to life,
football,golf,his son,his wife.
says "good morning" in portuguese's,
please,please stop him i'm on my knees.
He knew the krays,there suits so sharp,
cut your hand,cut your heart.
He knows all that is,and all that will be,
wind,rain,the trees the sea!
There he sits with silver rimmed glasses,
has his judgment on all that passes.