If my name was Betty Windsor and Philip was my queen,
I would travel around the world, demanding to be seen.
I’d sail to every sea port and claim them each my own,
and then I’d fly to every land, establishing my throne.

Perhaps I’d have grandchildren and call them Corgi names.
I’d ban those Greek Olympics and start my own world games.
I would use blue rinse in my hair, with streaks of pinks and greens
and hang out with the Londoners in skin tight studded jeans.

I’d have a topless bodyguard who knew my every move.
We’d frequent bars in Soho and then I’d learn to groove.
I’d shout at paparazzi and tell them to ‘sod off.’
I’d visit the Archbishop of Canterbury and remove his ‘holy’ cloth.

At New Years Eve, I’d be the first to jump in Trafalgar Square.
I would give them a show they’ve never seen and lose my underwear.
My subjects would adore me and call me ‘Betty Dear.’
I’d press them to my bosoms and serve them ice cold beer.

The House of Commons and Parliament would be sacked and all sent home.
I’d dispose of old man Catholic and build my house in Rome.
I would eat spaghetti with my hands and slurp it down my chin.
I’d take away all privileges from all my sordid kin.

I’d bomb that Euro-Chunnel and close borders to the frogs.
I would lift the ban on importing animals and bring in rabid dogs.
I would be known in history as the greatest there’s ever been,
if my name was Betty Windsor and Philip was my queen.