The day I nearly burnt my TV licence


I know a bloke who boasted he’d thrown away his TV set,
Then that he’d burnt his TV licence with no feelings of regret.
Curious I sat him down over a pint and said “listen,
Without a TV you really don’t know what you’re missing.
There’s so-called celebrities dining on testicles and bums,
Tax-dodging millionaires begging you to donate to charity funds.
Plus interfering chefs telling you what to eat that’s good for you,
Then adverts for pop stars flogging you their expensive shoes.
You could watch a talent show where skill doesn’t count if you’ve had a sad life,
Or see twenty women scramble to be a cheesy millionaires wife.
Witness the UK’s yearly humiliation in Eurovision,
Hear Piers Morgan spouting his alleged wisdom.
I even saw Keith Chegwin in the nude on a game show,
Mind you I’m still having hypnotherapy for that you know.”
When I’d finished I thought I given bigging up TV my best try,
My mate smirked, then looked me straight in the eye.
He said, “you talk a good talk, but you know what you should do.”
So I got out my lighter and my TV licence too.

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