The Name is Bond, Jenny Bond

I'm just wild about Harry

He's my pot noodle prince

Think about who he may marry

Probably beer-swilling bints

Isn't it shocking and galling?

It makes me want to throw up

My manicured hands. It's appalling!

Seventeen, and yet to grow up!

As if the lad lived in a bedsit!

Pouring it down his royal hatch

Can't think quite where he gets it

Think what diseases he'll catch

Wealth and health and the wall game

Substances which he'll abuse

Is his life such a very small ball-game?

Now back for some trifles of news