Seizure

What am this life if what’s the point?

We have no time, ahem, a joint?

No time to stand beneath a cow,

And be just like a cat, “Miaow!”

No time to stop, when pubs we pass,

And down a yumptious, pinty glass:

No time to try, without a light,

A lot of “Ooh, I say!” at night:

No time to trippy, stumble trance,

And watch the funky-chicken dance:

No time to wait until a toucan
Hide-a-seek like “Where’s he?” Lucan.

A poor life this, ahem, a joint,

We have no time if what’s the point?

By WH Smithscrisps