Imagine Captain Birdseye had never frozen peas
Imagine Tim Brooke-Taylor had never met John Cleese,
Imagine Richard Hammond had never parked a car.
You may say I’m a poet, but I’ve never sold a disc -
You reach your own conclusions, I recognize the risk.

Imagine parks in Peckham without their parakeets
Imagine Boris Johnson accepting his defeats,
Imagine Barbara Windsor had never lost her bra.
You may say I’m a poet, but that’s open to debate -
You reach your own conclusions, and I might be second-rate.

Imagine Stanley Unwin had never mangled grammar
Imagine Kenny Everett had always suffered from a stammer,
Imagine Gladys Knight had missed that midnight train.
You may say you’re a poet, but that’s a pretty daft idea -
You reach your own conclusions, and put your faith in Keir.

Imagine if our buses always ran on-time
Imagine if my poems were bereft of rhyme,
Imagine Frankie Boyle never seemed obscene.
You may say I’m a poet, but that’s a doubtful claim -
You reach your own conclusions, and that’s a dreadful shame.

Imagine if Clare Balding never went on hikes
Imagine central London without its rental bikes,
Imagine hardened hipsters never voting Green.
You may say I’m a poet, but I’m not the only one -
You reach your own conclusions, but never buy The Sun.