Getcha ‘ands orf me Barnet!
Take my nose: it only sniffs and blows;
I’ll say farewell, it can go to hell!
Take my baby blues, those I can lose
for they always cry (I wonder why?)
and my sad mouth that ever points south
can also be gone, adieu! So long!
Take my ears from one who too often hears
all the sniggered sneers and spiteful jeers.
The hair on my head? Touch that and you’re dead!
Once wished black to deter the attack
of bullies and cads and all the young lads,
it is a badge of pride – my soul worn outside.
A millennium of kin, both Celt and Viking
wore this bright red from womb till dead.
Though slowly greying and receding awaying
and bleached quite fair, still I love my hair.
So as Cockney folk say down East London way
the rest you can net, but getcha ‘ands orf me Barnet!
(Note: for those not in the know, Barnet Fair is cockney rhyming slang for hair)