Phillip fucking Schofield

He’s the tube that hosts the cube
The schmaltzy little worm
My word I hate that little prick-
-who’s prompting me to gurn

I’d slap him in to Thursday
Maybe kick him in the teeth
In truth I gest, I must confess
Though he’s a schmuck at very least

He makes Noel Edmonds seem quite cool
That high trousered high waste band fool
I just don’t get, what’s his appeal?
Boxes, really? Piss off, no deal

So back to phill, the plum named pip
A man who could make vomit sick
So insincere and smug and vain
I feel the urge to wretch again

And wretch I do, many times
This grey haired slug he drips with slime
He’s the fart in the lift, the shit on your shoe
There’s only one thing left to do

Reach t’ward the tv, turn it off
Don’t be infected by phill scoff
He’ll weasel inside your very soul
Using grey haired mind control

Before you know it, you’ll be dead
Unto the world and in your head
A once good brain, lobotomised
As Schofield’s Satan in disguise.