The real X factor

To those who sweat in pubs and clubs
and grubby half-filled village halls
where recognition never calls,
I clap politely. Stardom snubs
but, in your picking fingers, you
have far more talent than the climbin’
wannabes who dress like Simon
thinks they should. To art be true,
learn well your trade and you will find
a joy that will sustain you till
you die. And you will surely fulfill
the dream that needs no contract signed.
I beg you, don’t throw in the towel –
there’s more to life than Simon Cowell.

Please stop asking me to approve treaties

Please stop asking me to approve treaties –
my head’s in bits and my stomach’s in tatters
and I’ve got a really bad case of the DTs.

Grubby old men, stop offering me sweeties!
I feel like Alice in a room of Mad Hatters
when you keep asking me to approve treaties.

We had a great night over at Cousin Beattie’s
and I really can’t focus on such matters,
suffering badly, as I am, with the DTs.

I need camphor oil and cups of sweet teas,
not all this shyte you’re throwing at us
about whether or not I should approve treaties.

Bleary-eyed, my face resembles E.T.’s
(a comparison, alas, that only flatters
when I’ve a really bad case of the DTs.)

So stop! Heed my earnest entreaties,
all ye Joe Higgins and Alan Shatters.
Please desist asking me to approve treaties
when I’ve a really bad case of the DTs.