Say the aitch or let it fall?
Get it wrong and your head’s for boil.
Join the thread, treading light.
Empty room but they’ll still want to fight.

Not about the dance at all,
but whether vowels are clipped or stretched in a drawl.
Subjunctives wrecked. I am appalled.
Someone’s waiting for your grammer to fall.

On Ilkley Moor, they’re very proud,
to be bar t’at as long as there’s no clouds.
Mockney dudes, hip-hop beat,
local dialects tapped out with feet.

We for us and he for him,
lost accusative’s are the new sin.
Reflexive pronoun overuse,
Joan Armatrading would be most amused.

Me, myself, I, was her song.
Who will dare to tell her that it’s wrong?
To be or not, was Williams quest.
I am Tarzan, whilst you is a pest.

Cockney geezer, estuary speak,
glotal stops ignored now ain* tha* nea*?
Has the National Guard been called,
it seems the pronoun conjugations were mauled?

You don’t talk proper, that’s gangster rap,
not really kickin man, you is a prat.
Don’t take the mick, though you can’t tell,
subjunctivitis can be living hell.

Grammer books I don’t recall,
I was busy watching Body & Doyle.
Bash Street Kids left me enthralled.
Waiting for the grammer spammers to call.