Facebook, Twitter, all the rest,
'Liking' on-line friends the best.
Old pals now, all gone away,
new on-line friends with which to play.
Blond locks dirty and uncombed,
she's friendless now and all alone.
A hole is nowt,
So what's about,
And then a shout,
"Oy mate, look out!
Too late John,
Poor bleeders gone."
Old Granny Gobbins,
sneaked around Odd Bins,
hunting for bargains all day.
Then Mr Nighter,
Odd Bins proprietor,
chased Granny Gobbins away.
Old Granny Gobbins,
snuck back to Odd Bins,
filling her bag to the top.
Ran down the back aisle,
wearing her best smile,
slid her way out of the shop.
Old Granny Gobbins,
hurried from Odd Bins,
clutching her prize to her chest.
A car hit her back,
she dropped like a sack,
spilling gin over her vest.
Old Granny Gobbins,
dreams now of Odd Bins,
wishing she hadn't been bad.
Sits in her wheelchair,
moans life's so unfair,
missing her bogoffs like mad.
