There’s none so sure, at the age of four, as a girl with a missing tooth,
She can tell you why, she can raise a cry, but her story’s not the truth;
If you ask her where incisors go,
Was it over the clouds or under the snow?
She won’t say yes and she won’t say no.
Tell her it went and the money’s spent and then she’s a super-sleuth.
There’s none so fixed, at the age of six, as a boy with hazel eyes,
For his shoulders lean towards the screen like a monkey in disguise;
If you say it’s time to get some sun,
And it might be good to bike or run,
He’ll explain he’s already having fun.
Well it’s not all free, so charge a fee, then he’ll jump up in surprise.
There’s none so great, at the age of eight, as a girl with princess hair,
With a box of rings and some sparkly things and plenty more to share;
When you say it’s time to put away,
And someone’s coming round to play,
But she wants to leave it another day,
Get the hoover out, don’t scream or shout; she’ll be done with time to spare.
There’s none so fine, at twenty-nine, as the Scot with the backhand smash,
And the cream are there at the strawberry fair for his Wimbledon final clash;
So he takes a towel and rubs his hair,
And looks to the box and starts to swear,
You can see his mouth’s a regular square,
Keeps his eyes on the ball, he can take them all, then he celebrates with a splash.
There’s none so new, at fifty-two, as the boy with the big blond mop,
Coming down the line, grinning hard – just fine, he was heading for the top;
When he comes under surprise attack,
‘Cause his chum’s just stabbed him in the back,
So he quits and tries to duck the flack,
Give him FCO, on his knees he’ll go, and he’s not allowed to stop.