Finished. Fin. Finito. No ta, Cassandra.
It’s as easy as A, B,
See yourself out love,
Don’t bother writing any more letters,
A billet-won’t-doux the trick no more,
That’s for sure.
So don’t trouble me, please go away,
The postman’s on strike, so they say,
Or a flat tyre? Or flat to hire?
I’m not his spokesman.
And if it’s not clear, honey,
Google ‘eyes’ and then you’ll see,
You’re nowt more than a spud-throwing, coffee-thieving, latte night cold-calling, leotard-wearing, leo-pard-scaring
Hot head from Hoxton!