Well, that's it. I'm going mental. I just thought you ought to know.
Though I still appear quite normal, there are weeny signs that show.
I like talking to the Beavers, though the Beavers have gone home.
But I carry on regardless, when I know I'm quite alone.
Then I polish bits of biscuit that look messy on the plate
And if I can't get them shiny - Ooooooh! I do get so irate!
Now I've started reading bookends - cos they've got to end somewhere.
I've found that's where all the best bits are. The rest? I just don't care!
I keep my knickers in the fridge, beside the toast and Spam.
Why do I do this, you may ask. I do, because I can.
I wear my specs atop my head, out of necessity.
That way I cannot see my nose. It frightens me, you see.
I sneak about outside the shops and quickly swap around
The doggies that are tethered there, just so they can't be found.
I creep up on old people and I whisper "I smell wee"
But when they see the puddle, well, they know that it was me.
I angrily march into banks, demand they count their money
Just so that I can sing along - Can't think why they get funny.
I've started ironing Pop Tarts, though I've no idea why.
It makes my teeth smell funny and pings crumbs into my eye.
I like to collect traffic lights and keep them in my drawer.
Even my lawyer told me he'd not heard that one before.
I yodel into post boxes and wait for a reply.
And if I don't receive one, I write letters asking why.
I like to tell Policemen they've a weasel in their hat.
Then, when they take it off to look, I WHACK 'em - just like that!
I'm a menace to society, of that there is no doubt.
But, when they come to get me, I'll just tell them I've gone out.
