h2g2 The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy: Earth Edition

You've got me set on repeat whenever I'm listening to the rhythm of the beat,
as you accuse me of being a cheat whenever I try to join the cultural elite.
Well I don't why you think I'm bribing members with large sums of money,
and trying to palm them off with freebies of the most expensively made honey.
And saying I pay someone to take my membership entrance test,
to say if I am one of the cultural best as well as being the most well dressed.

I got lost in the fog,
and found myself knee deep in a bog,
where there was a dog,
who was on a janty jog,
wearing wooden clogs,
embroidered with tiny cogs.

I got lost in the dark,
and found myself in the riverside park,
where I looked up into the sky,
and started to sigh,
where I saw over the trees 'the dark mark'.

There were a band of Death Eaters,
who were all wearing windcheaters,
waiting for 'You-know-who',
for he has been overcome with deja vu,
making him feel very blue.

Odo the hero, received a deadly blow,
on the snow covered plateau nearby his chateau,
they bore him back to his birthplace,
with his body covered in chantil lace.
To the place that he'd known as a child,
where he smiled at the thought of joining the magic guild.
They laid him to rest with his hat inside out,
as they dined on a plateful of trout and sauerkrat,
And his wand snapped in two, which made everyone feel blue,
so they all said their very sad adieu as they formed an orderly queue.

The wonderful meat is over now,
A day of rest for myopic cows
Or every short sighted lamb
But me, I'm a vegetarian, I am.

The vegetarian Venus Flytrap
Awakens from her nap,
For she smells a vegetarian near.

She won't eat carnivores
(They all are such bores! )
But vegetarians to her heart are dear.

Never cook a 'tatoe in the month of May
Unless you add an onion with a leaf of bay
Never cook a 'nana in the month of June
Unless you add a cabbage: and a fork an spoon
Will be called for when you're baking in a warm July
To put with your knife: and don't forget to fry
Up some fishes in a pan, they will help you to remember
All the food you're gonna get through when you reach September.

Pardon, but didn't you say that you had a holiday in Bhutan?
Pardon, but didn't you say that you only wear clothes made of chiffon?
Pardon, but didn't you say that you're favourite type of tea is Ceylon?
Pardon, but didn't you say that you've visited the fashion houses of Milan?

Pardon, but didn't you say that you want to become a famous comedienne?
Pardon, but didn't you say that you have a wolves den in your garden?
Pardon, but didn't you say that you write only with a fountain pen?
Pardon, but didn't you say that you used to be in the WRNS?

Pardon, but didn't you say that you always make a lot of din after dinking too much gin?
Pardon, but didn't you say that it is not a sin not to know how to play the violin?
Pardon, but didn't that you chase your neigbour with a rolling pin?
Pardon, but didn't you say that when you have too much to drink that you end up in the kitchen bin?

I wanna dye my hair using henna.
I wanna shout out hosanna.
I wanna travel to the savanna.
I wanna eat sandwiches made of manna.
I wanna become a prima donna.
I wanna have a hat topped with a radio antenna.

I've been going through last month's bills,
And I found that on April second you bought
Another planet, one with red trees and mauve hills.
You promised not to do this; that's why we fought.

The money he has spent on cheese
Has brought his family to its knees
In Church they offer up a prayer:

"Dear Lord, send no more Camembert
Make our darling daddy foster
A disregard for Double-Gloucester
Help this poor soul at last to see
There's more to life than ripening Brie
His tastes lay waste, Lord let them fester
No more Chedder; no Red-Leicester
Send your angels to protect
Him from the cheese he must select
'tis clear, with all the cheese he's gratin'
He must have sold his soul to Satan
Heavenly Father, teach him please
To love us more than he loves cheese."

Here's a one-word review:

Amen!

Brilliant poem Frank

What, your telling me you've bought a luxury yacht.
What, you've managed to undo the Gordian knot.
What, you've become a world champion in the long shot.
What, you say that Ingram Valley is your favourite beauty spot.
What, your saying that all your clothes are covered in polka dots.
What, so you've got a job lot of a consignment of lobster pots.

You make me laugh whenever I think about having a bubble bath.
You make me laugh when I'm going down the garden path.
You make me laugh when I'm trying to complicated maths.
You make me laugh when you show me your comical looking business graphs.

Writing words, just willie nillie
Rillie nearly velly silly.
Shouldn't stay up late, and yet
That's the only fun I get.
One day soon, when I grow up
I'll offer you a loving cup.
A loving cup to drive you wild,
Meanwhile, go to sleep my child.

Ray says go and hug the disco dj,
and pray that there'll be a buffet,
supplied from the town's cafe,
where everything will taste parfait,
with souffles, sorbets and a cheese tray,
where none of the decorations will be coloured grey,
and there'll be patterns and instructions on how to crochet,
toupees for Ray and Renee who are celebrating the town's saint's day,
who are going to be presented with bouquets and a fully paid holiday in Bombay.

Will you please be quiet,
or there'll be a riot.
Will you please shut up,
about your pup who loves to say yup .
Will you please get a life,
and go and train to be a midwife,
by moving to Fife,
to escape from all the local trouble and strife.

Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha,
there goes the gold cache,
pulled by drays,
who were all going through a funny phase,
dancing ballet and singing like a blue jay,
and shouting hurrah to Jose and his animated toupee.

He, he, he, he, he, he,
now you've become a member of the banshee,
will you still be keeping bees,
and make your own cheese,
to have for afternoon tea,
where guests will shout out, whoopee,
as they eat slices of brie.

Gossip.

There's no telling what it is that she's been selling
And what's that swelling?, well I tell you, she's not telling
A soldier with a sabre, and a scotsman wi' a caber
Were telling my neighbour that she's going into labour
There's no knowing; before she started showing
She was knitting and sewing; then her waters started flowing
We don't know what she did with a fellow she called Sid
Tell the story, lift the lid: is she gonna have a kid?

Children don't like to stay in the womb forever.
They're hard-wired to jump out and become clever.
They'll get on your nerves at times,
Doing mischief that may seem like high crimes.

The apple never falls very far from the tree.
Don't get upset, just wait and see.....

I've got a funny neighour who wields a mighty lightsaber,
when climbing Mount Tabor after visiting the Haifa harbour,
so that she can curry favour with those who's running historic tours,
and those who have hairdressing salons that specialise in giving people pompadours.

She loves shrieking whenever she has been public speaking,
about her love of sneaking behind those are publicity seeking,
of the many travels and adventures in Beijing and Peking,
where they are involved in groundbreaking merrymaking.