The gurning, singing hobbit
They promised me he’d retired
Never again would I have to hear
His smug patronising ballads
Playing twice via Concorde
The smuggest of all gits
Providing the perfect anagram
By naming his collection “Hits”
That gurning, shrieking hobbit
Tortures pianos in public places
And when you think it can’t get worse
He’ll pull another of those faces
“Not Dead Yet - Live!” He’s called it
Five nights at the Albert Hall
Exposing the world to his dreary tunes
Requested by no-one at all
The gurning, drumming hobbit
Why couldn’t he stay retired?
Whenever the reaper waves his scythe
The wrong musician expires
I’m giving you fair warning
He’s playing those dates next June
Maybe cover your ears just in case
He releases a new hit “tune”
That singing, drumming hobbit
Why won’t he leave us alone?
Once more his irksome melodies
Out from a stage must drone
A groovy kind of love
Coming in the air tonight
Another day in paradise
A great big pile of sh---
The gurning, acting hobbit
Are you sure he’s not retired?
Pulling another “comedy” face
How I wish he’d never been sired
This balding irritation
Whose own records self-destruct
Why can’t he stay in obscurity?
Well and truly f-----
That drumming, droning hobbit
Promoted from back to front
He has his fans but I find him
An annoying little c---
Martin
A W Holmes, October 2016
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