The Name is Bond, Jenny Bond
I'm just wild about Harry
He's my pot noodle prince
Think about who he may marry
Probably beer-swilling bints
Isn't it shocking and galling?
It makes me want to throw up
My manicured hands. It's appalling!
Seventeen, and yet to grow up!
As if the lad lived in a bedsit!
Pouring it down his royal hatch
Can't think quite where he gets it
Think what diseases he'll catch
Wealth and health and the wall game
Substances which he'll abuse
Is his life such a very small ball-game?
Now back for some trifles of news
[January 2002]