“Lid it, laddie!  Just a minute!
       Lemme ’ear the draw, my son.
’Course we’re never gonna win it,
       Every week I bloody bin it,
Still, you gotta try it, innit?
...Christ Almighty, son! We’ve won!”

Dad goes mental!  Mum rejoices!
       Here comes spongers by the ton.
Snotty lawyers, endless choices,
       Jealous relatives, raised voices,
Aston Martins and Rolls Royces
...Villas in the Spanish sun.

Laddie meets a Page 3 slapper,
       (Marriage photo in The Sun),
Daughter dates a hip-hop rapper
       Graduates Phi Beta Kappa,
Gives birth to a whipper-snapper
...Laddie does a hit and run.

Dad goes mental!  Mum gets tearful.
       (Yet more pictures in The Sun).
Daughter gets a bleedin’ earful,
       Laddie’s Q.C. growing fearful
See’s no reason to be cheerful
...Thinks he’ll go down, ten to one.

Daughter turning anorexic,
       (Yet more pictures in The Sun).
Laddie steals a car and wrecks it,
       Page 3 slapper makes her exit,
Mum meets gigolo and necks it,
... “Jesus wept, wot ‘ave I done?”

‍
                  *  *  *

‍
“Wake up Dad and stop that racket!
       Mum?  She’s gone to buy The Sun.
Have you seen my leather jacket?
       Wrote me numbers on a packet.
‘Course, I know we’ll never crack it.
...Be a larf, though, if we won!”