The bubbles of wealth
used to rise in the glass
and tingle on my lips.
The label that I wore with verve
Skimmed lightly cross my hips

Hair in fashionable disarray
I’d sashay round the town
always remembering to cross my knees
whenever I sat down

I was finished y’know in Switzerland.
I folded napkins there
and learnt to act in a modest way
That behove a lady fair

In scarlet I went hunting
And found myself a beau
Not the handsomest of gentlemen
But he did have a chateau

I bathed in foreign sunshine
and royalty were friends
But it was just illusion
And soon the summer ends

And now its only tea
That’s sipped from paper cups
No more the trips to Henley
or Badminton or such

Gold has now turned silver
and my hips are not my own
and should I try to cross my knees
I’d likely break a bone