A poem about the problems associated with having scaffolding outside the front of your house and being ridiculously attractive.
What you doing up there mate?
What you hoping to see?
A crafty peek of my naked wife?
Or maybe even me?
What you doing up there mate?
I'll have to call the cops
Unless you get some tools out
And sort out my rooftops
What you doing up there mate?
Hold on, I know who you are
You're the bloke who follows us
And admires us from afar
What you doing up there mate?
You're really on the wrong track
That's my dear old Gran's room
Ours is round the back.
What you hoping to see?
A crafty peek of my naked wife?
Or maybe even me?
What you doing up there mate?
I'll have to call the cops
Unless you get some tools out
And sort out my rooftops
What you doing up there mate?
Hold on, I know who you are
You're the bloke who follows us
And admires us from afar
What you doing up there mate?
You're really on the wrong track
That's my dear old Gran's room
Ours is round the back.