I'm terribly, terribly posh
and you ask of me, 'Are you embarrassed?' Oh
crikey, oh golly, oh gosh,
it's jolly good fun being aristo.
I can't think of anything cooler
than descent from Chas II and his wenches:
you're guaranteed plenty of moolah.
It's fab and it's so unpretentious:
Being poor is of course a non-starter. We
all of us like the odd bean:
I mean, those who can open an artery
and splash you with ultramarine.
I'm descended from Richmond, Buccleuch,
dukes, you know, both illegitimate:
I love that. I love that, don't you?
Am I common at all? Not a bit of it.
And dosh, gosh I do give two hoots –
helps me ride on Society's pillion.
Overdraft? Laughed at by Coutt's:
could you pop me a couple of million?
Yes, we toffs are terrifically fab
and our mouths are quite crammed with Victorias:
not being aristo's awfully drab,
whereas I am both happy and glorious.