How Lovely, a lavatory,
With a fat, golden pine seat,
Beneath a pair of net curtains,
Draped to suggest Victorian elegance.
What a picture, how graceful.
And two reproduction, four poster beds,
With chintzy pelmets.
And the factory next door makes no noise,
In those endless, steel sheds.
And a knotty pine fitted kitchen,
A knotty, fitted-pine knitted, spotty kitchen,
A snotty, spitty, pitted pine kitchen,
Just the fashion, once,
But not sufficiently long ago to be tasteful.
Just the thing, for a Georgian house,
And a plethora of fat leather sofas, turquoise.
And a conservatory, uPVC,
For conserving cane and wickerwork and glass topped bamboo tables.
And all for a million pounds,
Because it has stables.