On to wife number three, they’re all on the take
A penchant for single malt and a Masonic hand shake.
Visits his mother because she gone poorly
In a fake Tudor house on the out skirts of Crawley.
Regional sales manager, of the ignoble kind
Who invented a dance that would blow the mind.
Bend over forward, then let your hips go
Now flap those arms like billy-oh.
It started at a stag do, in the Folies Bergere
The excitement and decadency touched him somewhere;
A magnificent theatre with an atmosphere most murky
Announcing in the era, start of the Twerky Turkey.
With his dance stylie so hot, all the birds knell down
This barmy boogie jig, pulls crumpet around town.
Advised a young apprentice, this what you do
Dance like me, cos we’re the Twerky crew!
He Twerked on the TV for a charity that he invested
Was on stage with that celebrity, the one that got arrested.
Got a tee shirt with the slogan’ watch me Twerking’
And wears it to the pub, when he’s not working.
His wife said joking, “He’s Twerkying away….
………………wonder if he free from MRSA?
Could do with being a few pounds thinner
We’ll make him dance for his Xmas dinner.”
Once devoted to football, both a player and a fan
But deserted in midfield, when his Twerking began;
At the Crooked Billet do, he takes this timely chance
To repeatedly preformed his legendary silly dance.
At his cousin’s wedding in Essex Billericay
All tanked up and started moving well tricky.
With his wife so splendidly, ensconced the bar
He twerked the bridesmaid’s sister, in backseat of his car.
On a boys day out, down the motorway to Brighton
See la-di-da Bohemians, to them I’m a Titan!
This bald sweaty man, with a gleeful fixed grin
‘Start the music maestro and let the magic begin.’
Climbing on to a table, in Legends smirking
Hit it Geezer! cos I’m Turkeeeey Twerking.
Launched a crazy bum twist as ever been seen
Up staged the DJ and an irate drag queen.
Of this disco scene, cannot get enough
Always rocking and shaking, his Turkey stuff.
Keeping firm and with the birds on their knees
He boasts of all the women, he’s had to please.
At a leaving do, in a local Beckenham pub
After stuffing his face full, with all that free grub,
Dons a comic fake beard, it’s really a mirking
Wiggling his arse, now let’s get Twerking!
Once he has started he will never stop
Twerking like a crazy man, to Icona Pop;
Oh! Look how the crowd, would gather and stare
To watch tubby man gyrating, I Don’t Care.
The girls scurry in bottle green boiler suits
Down on their knees, in their Doc Martin boots
Non-responsive, no pulse, pull up his vest
Ready the defribs and gel his chest!
Pronounced dead at 2:18am on Sunday morning
Inform the family with tact, to do their mourning,
Did your best Jen, got the ambulance keys?
And girls in green boiler suits, got up off their knees.
Now Salesman of the year ‘83 to ‘94
He won’t be twerking – not any more;
It was just his love of fun that he was toying
But his stupid dance was still bloody annoying.
