14 November 2012
The last thing you need when you're ill Is relief in a Bob shaped pill I don't hate his guts But he's driving me nuts If only he'd keep his tongue still
He talks about nothing but fishing And work. Which leaves me wishing That he'd leave me alone He's like a dog with a bone The will to live is diminishing
I attempt to be patient, I try But give up with a mournful sigh He can hear my bad cough But he won't bugger off! There must be a way to get by
Come closer if that's your selection I shall cough in your direction Then you'll know, Robot Boy What it's like to annoy When you just won't stay in your section
But no, he's terminally happy Just makes me even more snappy Seems all I've got Is Robert the Robot Could the day be any more crappy?
I suppose I'm resigned to my fate And I wouldn't wish it on you mate But if you caught it tomorrow There'd not be much sorrow Be off 'til next week, that'd be great...
Robert The Robot • Opuss № I