Strange are the ways of the Satwoths,
Behaving like vandals and visgoths;
With their beer and the wine,
And scenery divine,
They write only of farting and button-offs!!
Of redwoods we hear quite a lot,
But not nearly as much as the pot,
Or the jug or the glass, Or the growth of the arse,
Of Mark and the whole bloomin' lot!
The size of their waist-line expands,
As they roam over far distant lands,
Consuming much booze
Of which they send news
To their fans (or their wives) on all hands.
Satwothery's all very well,
But for those of us still in the hell
Of the work-a-day grind
It's really a bind.
Still is good to know that all's well.
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