So you've got O' level art and a degree in social sciences,
Your tweed jacket is becoming threadbare.
The crumbs in your beard are beginning to rot,
And your John Lennon glasses are misted.
But you know a talented artist when you see one.
An actor of great potential incites you to sit,
Finger on chin, pondering.
The length of your words increases,
Dependent upon the company you keep.
Syllable after syllable you impress your friends,
As you sit drinking organically pure real ale,
And smoking hand-rolled, misshapen, stinking cigarettes.