Don't tell my father I breakfast on gin,
He'd really go over the top.
But it's perfect for dipping my soldiers in,
And it don't half make rice crispies go pop.
I think he suspects someone's been at his scotch;
He's marking the bottle, you see.
But it gives sago pudding that 'Je ne sais quoi',
So I top up the bottle with tea.
Daddy's ever so proud, every night before seven,
When I meekly retire with a book.
He thinks I think Christopher Robin is heaven (he's not),
But I have this 'arrangement' with Cook...
Mummy and Nanny think that I'm frail,
And at breakfast I usually am.
But by bedtime I'm rip-roaring hearty and hale
...And at 50 I'm nearly a man.