Sleep sound Mr. Spectacles, mine generous host
You're the toast of the evening, the host with the most.
How thoughtful you leaving your whisky on offer.
Alone with your eldest. Alone on the sofa.
We're the same Mr. Spectacles, you were once young too
I'm sure that you bedded fair maiden or two
You tip-toed through fridges and drink cabinets
You ogled your mate's mums and ponced cigarettes.
Sure, now you're older and balder and drive flashy cars
Quaffing your cognac and smoking cigars
But you don't fool me Spectacles, we both know the craic
I've dirtied your daughter and you can't have her back.
I'll be frank with you Speccy, whilst this booze takes effect
due to copious amounts of your whisky I've necked.
I'm into your daughter. Your little girl's fit
from her shapely round arse to her full buxom tits.
I'll stay with her as she makes me feel happy
but if her dugs hit the deck I'll be dropping her snappy.
I'll be you one day Spectacles, snoring in bed
and wishing your unwelcome visitor dead.
Straining my ears for the clink of a glass
a guilty titter, the smack of an arse.
Then down I'll come! Bounding five stairs at a time!
In ridiculous nightwear.
It will happen in time.