OK, I fried your boots, and I might have shot the telly
The missile that flew past your head, well that was just a welly
What seems to be a long time now
 I’ve waded through your fog
I’ve been polite, not caused a fight
A Winston Churchill dog
So its San fair ann, tootle pip, adieus’
I wonder what you will be missing the most
My charming wit or maybe just me
If I were to gamble I’ll bet on TV



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