Iím a lazy bastard. Always miss my morning call.
Every time I try to start, I always seem to stall.
Activity rebounds on me, like spitting in a squall.
He who gets up from his bed is heading for a fall.
I canít hold down a steady job to earn the wherewithal.
I trawl through all the want-ads: I trawl and trawl and trawl:
One day Iíll find one saying, ďLazy git required, to sprawl,Ē
Or Iíll advertise myself and tell them ďNo job is too small.Ē
Is it nature? Is it nurture? Is it something in my gall?
Did aliens abduct me when Iíd barely learnt to crawl?
Did they tamper with my brain so as to hold me in their thrall?
Well, even if they did, I canít be bothered to recall.
Even going down the pub seems such a bloody haul:
The thought of walking thirty yards can make the prospect pall,
So donít worry if you see me slumped and furtive by a wall:
Iím loitering with no intent of anything at all.
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