I had always thought in writing that I had a unique voice
But a computer went and told me that I write like old James Joyce,
B’jabers, folks, I had no clue, that I could write the craik,
And pen a stream of consciousness whilst lying on my back.
So pour me out a pint of black that’s brewed in Dublin town,
And I’ll spew out some gibberish without a grunt or frown,
“It was a dull and rainy day, O’Mally shines his shoes,
And eats his oatmeal breakfast whilst the well-bored audience boos”.
So spare me all this Joycean crap, just offer me hard cash,
And hope I’ll be remembered as the modern-day Ogden Nash.