I know a man called “Boring”
And he really is a bore!
When he’s not talking dreary talk
He goes to bed and snores.
He wears lacklustre trousers
And a hat that’s dull and drab.
The strangest thing about him though
Is he thinks he is fab.
He has no friends - of course not –
For he’s such a stuffy bloke,
And when he comes upon the scene
Folk disappear like smoke.
Well, should we let old Boring know
Just what we think of him?
Or should we throw him out to sea
And hope that he can swim?
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