What have we here laddy? Mysterious scribblings? A secret code? No, poems no less. POEMS EVERYBODY! The lad here reckons himself a poet. "Money, get back, Im all right, Jack. Keep your hands off my stack. New car, caviar, four star daydream. Think I'll buy me a football team." ABSOLUTE RUBBISH LADDIE! Get on with your work!

WHOOP! WHOOP! WHOOP!