Finished. Fin. Finito. No ta, Cassandra.

It’s as easy as A, B,

See yourself out love,

Don’t bother writing any more letters,

A billet-won’t-doux the trick no more,

That’s for sure.

 

So don’t trouble me, please go away,

The postman’s on strike, so they say,

Or a flat tyre? Or flat to hire?

I’m not his spokesman.

 

And if it’s not clear, honey,

Google ‘eyes’ and then you’ll see,

You’re nowt more than a spud-throwing, coffee-thieving, latte night cold-calling, leotard-wearing, leo-pard-scaring

Hot head from Hoxton!