The Name is Bond, Jenny Bond
Iím just wild about Harry
Heís my pot noodle prince
Think about who he may marry
Probably beer-swilling bints
Isnít it shocking and galling?
It makes me want to throw up
My manicured hands. Itís appalling!
Seventeen, and yet to grow up!
As if the lad lived in a bedsit!
Pouring it down his royal hatch
Canít think quite where he gets it
Think what diseases heíll catch
Wealth and health and the wall game
Substances which heíll abuse
Is his life such a very small ball-game?
Now back for some trifles of news
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