His flashing hair!

In Xanadu did Newton John a horrid shrieking scream declare, where Popacatepetl hid his foaming eyes, his flashing hair! His foaming hair, his mad baboon! His semi-puzzled goat! His grebing grobbled gark-nailed grunk! His badly creaking throat! Unto the world did Kubla Khan the latest football scores read out, where Alf the Garnet (racist git) was left alone to shout: "Innit marvlous? Innit great? Innit bloody naff?" He screamed and yelled, he oozed and smelled, and licked away the chaff. 'Twas in a rotten punt they met, All dribbling blue and gooey, the boat collapsed, they (sunken) lapsed into the Cherwell (pooy). My love is like a red red rope, It's used for making nooses, I tied it to my horse-drawn head, And now push up the roses. Er, daisies — that is what I meant, Oh dear! Intentionalist! Beware, beware his sliming hair, especially when he's pissed. He staggers round from door to door enquiring of their health, their clothes, their shoes, their toothpaste tubes, but least of all their wealth.