Whatever you might be doing now

My veggie senses know somehow

It cannot be of much importance

When there’s a posh lion – arm wrestling a porpoise.

His girlfriend’s there, but he tries to hide her

(She fits quite neatly behind his cider)

He struggles sliding left and right

But in the end – gives up the fight.

Now if you’ve ever seen a porpoise

You might have been inclined to nortuss (that’s ‘notice’, in a very strong Northern accent)

They do not have the best of arms

But heck they’ll win you with their charms.

He flirted left, he flirted right

He winked and whistled through the night

The lion just couldn’t concentrate

So he downed his pint and he cleared his plate

The shame was far too much to handle

His tiny girlfriend blew out the candle

(Behind which she’d hidden; after the pint)

And she ran off with porpoise – to fly a kite

Reminded sadly of the summer rain

Lion dug out his top hat again

He troffled down to Tim-buk-tu

(Troffling’s what posh lions do)

And there he spent the rest of time

Just staring at his hand, and sucking on a lime.

And so the story comes with a lesson –

There is no use – for posh aggression.