Here I’m standing right outside your window.
Yes, I know you’d thought I’d gone to ground.
You’ve read about the World Cup in the Indo?
Well, that’s the reason I’ve not been around.
Matches on at lunchtime, as you know, dear,
Afternoon games whet your appetite,
Evening games the best part of the show, dear
And don’t forget the highlights late at night.
Today, at last, the World Cup takes a rest, dear,
Not a drop of football to be found.
My absence up to now will be redressed, dear,
Until the quarter finals come around.
No, my dear, this isn’t a loud-hailer
You’re eying from your balcony above.
This is what they call a vuvuzela
And I’ve come to serenade your love.
Listen while I play a lilting air, dear,
Hear this composition wot I wrote.
Tonight its going to get its premiere, dear,
Shame it only plays a single note.
Your father’s out here cursing like a sailor,
Says he’s going to give me some advice.
That’s not the place to shove a vuvuzela,
Frankly, dear, that wasn’t very nice.