How They Texted The Good News From Gwent To Hay, or O2 b n Englnd nw tht Aprls hr
I'm on the train, I'm on the tram,
I'm anywhere upon the globe,
I'm on a plane, I'm in a jam,
I'm talking to you like a strobe,
I'm on my mobe, I am.
My tongue is cross, my mouth a strop,
My fingers scratch, my thumb-pads itch,
My mind is pap, my lips go pop,
My brain is cracked, my words are kitsch,
I am my switchboard op.
I'm on a boat, I'm on the john,
I'm in the village, on a swing,
I'm not All Quiet On The Don,
I'm taking off, I'm on the wing,
I've got my ring-tone On.
May God preserve my battery pack,
It must not fade, or wind up flat,
I croak, I'm toad-like - answer back,
And hear my reptile chit and chat:
I am a natterjack.
I'd not be happy as a clam.
I need to speak indoors, outdoors:
I give you flim, I give you flam -
One hundred years and not a pause -
I'll speak ad nauseam.
Click here for the Daily Telegraph's uncharacteristically mis-spelt report.
