Each evening he makes an appearance
And someday they'll make him a star
He's Toulouse-Lautrec on the Costa
The old tart the end of the bar.
He's been here awhile now, ten years or more
Forgets why he came here or even what for
Ag-ed and rusty he did sometimes score
And now it's his turn to be famous.
Back then at times lonely, even recluse
A slave to self-pleasure and constant misuse
A victim, though willing, of ethnic abuse
A pain in the A-word, a loser.
Now things are much better, even alright
My kids come and see me I speak to my wife
Here will quite do me the rest of my life
Will somebody please stroke my ego.
song words, no music.sort of music hall.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.