John Safran

If I had a magic castle by the sea

I’d ask you to come live with me

If I were eurasian, eyes pretty, hair long

To love a non-jew wouldn’t seem so wrong

Please give me a call, don’t be mean

You can sing for me, I’d still be keen

We could rummage through Tracy Grimshaw’s bin

Or somehow upset old Ray Martin

I adore you so, I don’t know why

It’s the way you sneak and pry

Stealing Nicole Scherzingers’ panties

You, dear John, are the bees knees,

The cats pyjamas, cream of the crop

I especially like your top

Your eyebrows, socks, your loungeroom chairs

Or perhaps the way you cut your hair

Streaking through Jerusalem,

The way you say “I’ve been thinking”

The way you made your father admit

He’d had his large nose tampered with

It’s the way you lisp and speak and sound

When you say “hospices” my head spins round

People tell me to be wary of you

As Tina Fey might say, they can eat my poo

I simply do not understand the drama

All you did was wank to Obama

I love you so much, I just can’t concieve

Why you have a restraining order against me

I’m not a stalker, I’m just a fan

On my laptop outside your house in my van