There are plans and bits upon the floor
Lots of wood chippings - isn’t that what a model room is for?
I go on me knees and me knees are sore
To pick up any ‘wanted’ bits – I find bits galore!
The vacuum in here is totally not allowed
And when you get the duster it causes a cloud
Who threw away all me bits of plastic
And we knew fine well he wanted that elastic!
There is glue stuck to me brand new mat
I wouldn’t mind but it even covers the cat
His models are camouflaged
with a fine layer of grit
Sanding away in his own little pit
Resin and fibreglass smell fill the air
It hovers round the house
And down the old stair
Nothing will rid you of it - even in me hair
But he calmly says it won’t long be there
So oh to the model room
With cup stain rings and pieces of wood
He’s very quiet
He must be up to no good!
At least when he is modelling
His face is contented
But all of this dust has me demented
I’m glad he isn’t a farmer
Covering the place with cow doddles
Cos its this little room
That stores all the models
So all of you people who complain about boats
Thank the dear Lord he doesn’t keep goats!!!
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