Me Arthritic Finger

I detest writing on this poxy little phone Hunched over a 2by3inch screen Punching away at the imaginary Glass keyboard Boss eyed Cross as hell... every time I lose connection Hence half hour Wasted ... oh well Crucifying my wretched eyesight And arthritic finger aching Pleading That I should go out and play Unaware that this old bag is way to old To enjoy herself And throw caution Right out of her cracked conservatory window And slam dunked mind Oh isn't life grand Winding up ole misery guts And driving her round the bend Up the Swanee Heading over the cartoon hills to Bedlam by the sea Tapping away on her poxy little HTC The scream