so that every mouth can be red.
Poor me, Pre-Raphaelite. Aah.
Get up in the morning, painting for bread, sir,
So that every mouth can be red.
Poor me, Pre-Raphaelite. Aah.
James Collinson, he just packed up and leave me.
Darlings, he said, I was yours to be seen.
Poor me, Pre-Raphaelite. Aah.
Germ them a-tear up, PRB is gone.
I don't want to end up like Bitumen mud.
Poor me, Pre-Raphaelite. Aah.
After The Clique that caused us some harm.
Our art style bought the farm. You sound the alarm.
Poor me, Pre-Raphaelite. Aah.
Poor me, Pre-Raphaelite.
I wonder who I'm working for.
Poor me, Pre-Raphaelite,
I look a-down and out, sir.
1 comment:
My ears are alight.
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