Now it's January,
So, goodbye, Christmas Fairy.
Instead here comes the Schofe,
And he is really nice,
He is not an oaf,
Who presents Dancing on Ice.

So, now it's February,
Have a pancake or two for tea.
Who needs the Six Nations,
When you've Takeaway for fun?

And, now it's March,
Our Tuesday factual's coming last,
But, we're still full of glee,
Because, Talent is back early,
Absolutely not because of Voice on BBC.

So, now April's come,
And we're feeling a bit glum.
Our new hoped-for Sat night hit,
Has turned to ratings shit,
But it's just a small setback,
Because Keith Lemon will be back.

So, now's it's come to May,
And Talent is on each day,
And we'll have a lot to say,
When EastEnders we'll slay.

But, now it's June,
And mid-month, we'll change our tune:
At the French Open,
Murray is the best,
But at Wimbledon,
He really is a pest.

Now it is July,
So let out a great big sigh.
The ratings well's run dry,
And X Factor is not yet nigh.

Hooray, it's August,
We're excited fit to bust,
It's time for our X Factor,
Its ratings are gold dust.
Which contestant's "illegal"?
Which one is the "proz"?
Will we see the return of Lady Sharon of Oz?

Now it's September,
And Abbey's on Sunday.
That means the BBC,
Can't show dramas 'til Monday.

Now it's October,
And Strictly's coming back.
We'll watch the schedules,
And won't let it attack.

Now it's November,
Ant and Dec are on each night.
"Wor" celebs might have to eat it,
But don't say the programme's shite.

Now it's December,
Stopwatches are ready,
Because the Beeb's got good stuff on,
And our line-up's crappy.
If EastEnders beats Abbey,
We will want to cry,
And if you point it out,
You'll get a poke in the mince pie.