Gives me the pip, that cousin Clementine -
tries to display her assets whenever she can.
Gets her kit off, any old excuse,
just take a look at her Day-Glo orange tan.
She lies beneath a sun-lamp most of the day -
what do they call her? ‘Easy peeler’ - I’ll say!
Oh, and there’s my rhymester nephew, Navel,
loves to spout his poetry out loud.
Claims he’s in demand, although I heard
that when he had a go at rap, the crowd
were shouting ‘Rubbish - get some street cred’.
‘Taking the pith’ is what I think they said.
Steer clear of uncle P - he’s puffing out
his chest with that ridiculous medallion.
A ladies’ man, he likes to call himself
Pomelo, thinks it makes him sound Italian.
But I’ve already sussed his little game
and know that Shaddock is his actual name.
So what of me, you ask? I may be tart
in my opinions and acid in my views
but look beyond my rough and yellow skin,
give me a little squeeze. And if you choose
to stick with me, my extra special zest
will tell you I’m a cut above the rest.
