The secret bower

Who’s the pampered pansy
in the back seat of the taxi?
— That’s your Uncle Arthur;
don’t let him touch your jacksy.

What do you do, Uncle Arthur?
— I’m a famous impresario.
Is that some kind of secret code?
— Oh no, au contrario!

What a handsome boy you have,
quite the Ganymede!
— Lay one finger on him
and I’ll kick your arse to Leeds.

I only meant to offer him
a part in my new play,
twenty thousand pounds a week
and more on Broadway.

— Now be nice to Uncle Arthur,
no need for you to cower.
Ah! the happy times we spent
in boyhood’s secret bower.



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