Struggles off the bus
With his pass and a fuss.
Fought in France and Italy I’ll have you know!
Full of pride and swollen ego,
He widowers down the street.
Every foot a mile with his feet.
Deadly I was, used to knock’em in!
Visited of an afternoon by his next of kin.
Snapshots of better times on the mantelpiece.
Literally seconds having settee-slumped down for a little peace
Does he pull himself back up back to the kitchen for the tea-spoon;
Thank bugger, me ‘ome ‘elp ‘ll be ‘ome soon!