Poetry-Man, Poetry-Man, does whatever, well whatever a Poetry-Man can…
Spins a rhyme any size,
goes over time in slams gets disqualified,
when he gets up to perform always fails to check his flies.
look out here comes the Poetry-Man.

Are his words strong? Listen bud
he spits like a llama, which I think means he’s good?
Can he swing from a thread?
No, he’s got gout and arthritis
he travels by bus instead.
Always got a rollup ready, here comes the Poetry-Man.

In the chill of the night
he checks the sales figures of his books.
Leave him a bad Amazon review
and he’ll punch you in the nuts.

Poetry-Man, Poetry-Man, drowns his sorrows with gin, its Poetry-Man
wealth and fame he ignores,
bit daft really as poetry pays bugger all.
So if he misses the last bus he can’t get a taxi there goes the Poetry-Man.

Poetry-Man, Poetry-Man, thank god it’s the last verse it’s Poetry-Man,
He seems to live on just beer and pork scratchings
They call him the chicken of poetry as ideas he’s always hatching
he’s infected with words let’s hope it’s catching
There goes the Poetry-Man.