Punch
In a small,but perfect,playpen, They practise,badly,being grown-ups, No-one makes the right decisions, Throwing childish tantrums; Their mummy never gave them a dummy, Busy in her perfect kitchen, Daddy gave them building bricks And they built useless houses; Grown as people of power now, Parents disappear or die, They just poke tongues out,from inside bars At people who'd much prefer to pass them by......
He's a joke figure,taking himself serious, A gravedigger,pretending he's mysterious, A harmless little creep Who keeps on telling you he's great; Some madman masquerading as a head of state, Punch,(joke figure) Punch..punch..punch..
He's been sitting there for years; I wonder who gave him his throne? Perhaps the king of england, Perhaps the king of rome, Perhaps his friends or relatives, Who won it in some war,
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