Look at the God-damn shoe hole. Curse the Phillips stick-sole. Only out for a short stroll, When the bloody thing wore through. Look at the state of the uppers, Ain't no high-steppin' strutters, Rather be home behind shutters, Than walking these gardens of Kew. Look at the knotted laces. Certain they've seen a few places. A proper pair of disgraces. I just don't know what to do. Wish I'd settled for cloggies. They don't get bitten by doggies And they stop you sinking in boggies But cost a penny or two. Sod it I think I'll go barefoot (As long as I don't step in bear poop). Suppose that I'd just better bear up And stop all this hullabaloo. Thank you.