Pongo

Patrick Cannell 2019
When he gets on a bus everybody else gets off.
He's got mustard breath and, when he exhales, it makes us cough.
The smell's so bad his nose has turned inside out.
His dandruff drops on to the ground like lumps of grout.

Hold your nostrils and shield your eyes,
He's the scruffiest man alive.

It's Pongo. It's Pongo. It's Pongo. Oh no.
It's Pongo. It's Pongo. It's Pongo. Oh no.

He makes them swoon but for all the wrong reasons.
He gets some dates but nobody sees him more than once.
At school he was in a class all of his own,
The teachers gave him lessons through a closed window.

Hold your nostrils and shield your eyes,
He's the scruffiest man alive.

It's Pongo. It's Pongo. It's Pongo. Oh no.
It's Pongo. It's Pongo. It's Pongo. Oh no.

Is that a hairy rodent scratching his backside? Oh no.
Or a walrus on the tide? Oh no.
Is that a warthog adrooling on my toe? Oh no.
Or a golem made from moldy old dough? No, it's Pongo.

It's Pongo. It's Pongo. It's Pongo. Oh no.
It's Pongo. It's Pongo. It's Pongo. Oh no.