The week we wait with breaths abated
And around the hospital we congregated
For there's to be a exciting event
A royal baby is heaven sent
A boy a girl it matters not
It'll gurgle and giggle in its cot
Let's celebrate with flags a waving and a flying
And remind each other that the royals are not a dying.
Margaret Elizabeth Mary Jo - Who cares what's she called as long as she's no ho
For the chimes of the clock whispereth away
And we wait and we pray on this truly amazing day
It's a he! It's a she! crieth that nurse
It's so small it could fit in her purse
And as it grows to be a royal
So we must cherish it on our saintly soil
For baby's come but once a year
And today's the day -don't shed no tear!
It'll be wrapped up like a baby dove
And baby Windsor we send you hot hot love.
Now I'm no fan of the Royals, but that seems a bit harsh.
And I'm keeping my hot, hot love for someone altogether more deserving if it's all the same to you.
Kate is going to push a wean out
With bunting and flags we'll all shout
3 cheers for her minge
on cheap cider we'll binge
And we'll be paying for this privilege there's no doubt.
Kate is going to push a wean out
With bunting and flags we'll all shout
3 cheers for her minge
on cheap cider we'll binge
And we'll be paying for this privilege there's no doubt.
Now THIS is what I call poetry.
*wipes away a tear*;)
The week we wait with breaths abated
And around the hospital we congregated
For there's to be a exciting event
A royal baby is heaven sent
A boy a girl it matters not
It'll gurgle and giggle in its cot
Let's celebrate with flags a waving and a flying
And remind each other that the royals are not a dying.
Margaret Elizabeth Mary Jo -
Who cares what's she called as long as she's no ho
For the chimes of the clock whispereth away
And we wait and we pray on this truly amazing day
It's a he! It's a she! crieth that nurse
It's so small it could fit in her purse
And as it grows to be a royal
So we must cherish it on our saintly soil
For baby's come but once a year
And today's the day -don't shed no tear!
It'll be wrapped up like a baby dove
And baby Windsor we send you hot hot love.
Sorry. That is the worst poem I have read in my life.
Is it a diamond?
Is it a pearl?
No, it's a boy or it might be a girl!
The news teams are dehydrated,
they really need a drink,
For this event to be celebrated
Is going to the brink!
Yep, the brink of desperation, the waiting is a bore
But the news will be tiresome, it'll last forevermore.
For God's sake woman, Hurry up!,
It really is too hot!
To even give a monkey's
About your Royal tot!
The TV will be off, until the news' dispersed
And all those tedious speeches
the TV crews rehearsed
Are gone and all forgotten,
for Philip is back in need
Of some more hospital treatment,
he's a whithering seed.
Then the cycle starts again,
cameras at the ready.
Bustling news teams, a weedy bloke
holding mics steady!
Reports on the hour,
the usual talking head,
Secretly hoping they're the first
To announce to the world he's dead!
So, hurry up Kate, for goodness sake. You look like a bloated frog,
Hurry up and let them report that you've had your tiresome sprog!
(B) Multiples come early... and usually by Caesar...
I was thinking of the implications for the regal role in future. If there was more than one, and say that the first-born becomes the heir, then how much a role does the other one (or more, if the case) get to perform? That's uncharted waters, as of yet.
I was thinking of the implications for the regal role in future. If there was more than one, and say that the first-born becomes the heir, then how much a role does the other one (or more, if the case) get to perform? That's uncharted waters, as of yet.
Having twins would be of no legal consequence, the first born is the heir, whether the second born comes two minutes or two years later makes no difference.
Is it a diamond?
Is it a pearl?
No, it's a boy or it might be a girl!
The news teams are dehydrated,
they really need a drink,
For this event to be celebrated
Is going to the brink!
Yep, the brink of desperation, the waiting is a bore
But the news will be tiresome, it'll last forevermore.
For God's sake woman, Hurry up!,
It really is too hot!
To even give a monkey's
About your Royal tot!
The TV will be off, until the news' dispersed
And all those tedious speeches
the TV crews rehearsed
Are gone and all forgotten,
for Philip is back in need
Of some more hospital treatment,
he's a whithering seed.
Then the cycle starts again,
cameras at the ready.
Bustling news teams, a weedy bloke
holding mics steady!
Reports on the hour,
the usual talking head,
Secretly hoping they're the first
To announce to the world he's dead!
So, hurry up Kate, for goodness sake. You look like a bloated frog,
Hurry up and let them report that you've had your tiresome sprog!
Comments
Well, that's world over-population licked if it's per nation or world. If It's per woman, we're swamped!
The Donna Summer version or Kelly Marie's?
Now I'm no fan of the Royals, but that seems a bit harsh.
And I'm keeping my hot, hot love for someone altogether more deserving if it's all the same to you.
They're going to call her Izzy?
Eh? You're not celebrating?
It's not jealousy my dear, it's honest criticism.
Let's see you do better then mr William Shakespeare's.
Oh Dear :D
Celebrating what exactly?
Your execrable "poetry" or some woman having a baby/
No and hell no.
Oh she won't be. If she's a yobbess or ****, it'll be with a posh accent.
With bunting and flags we'll all shout
3 cheers for her minge
on cheap cider we'll binge
And we'll be paying for this privilege there's no doubt.
Now THIS is what I call poetry.
*wipes away a tear*;)
Kate is rumoured to be with her family in Berkshire...
What if she doesn't make it to the hospital in time and she gives birth on the M4 hard shoulder... it has been known...
If she goes into Labour why can't she go to the Royal Berks Hospital like the rest of us have to?
Sorry. That is the worst poem I have read in my life.
Is it a diamond?
Is it a pearl?
No, it's a boy or it might be a girl!
The news teams are dehydrated,
they really need a drink,
For this event to be celebrated
Is going to the brink!
Yep, the brink of desperation, the waiting is a bore
But the news will be tiresome, it'll last forevermore.
For God's sake woman, Hurry up!,
It really is too hot!
To even give a monkey's
About your Royal tot!
The TV will be off, until the news' dispersed
And all those tedious speeches
the TV crews rehearsed
Are gone and all forgotten,
for Philip is back in need
Of some more hospital treatment,
he's a whithering seed.
Then the cycle starts again,
cameras at the ready.
Bustling news teams, a weedy bloke
holding mics steady!
Reports on the hour,
the usual talking head,
Secretly hoping they're the first
To announce to the world he's dead!
So, hurry up Kate, for goodness sake. You look like a bloated frog,
Hurry up and let them report that you've had your tiresome sprog!
(A) She'd have a bigger bump :eek:
(B) Multiples come early... and usually by Caesar...
I was thinking of the implications for the regal role in future. If there was more than one, and say that the first-born becomes the heir, then how much a role does the other one (or more, if the case) get to perform? That's uncharted waters, as of yet.
Having twins would be of no legal consequence, the first born is the heir, whether the second born comes two minutes or two years later makes no difference.
Things could still go wrong, she might still feel pain and fear, etc.
People are so callous sometimes. Fair enough to dislike the royals but is there a need to be so cold and even cruel?
Poetry in motion!:D:D