My brother's hairy. I'm a smoother man.
I entered by the exit, without knowing,
They told me off, you know, but I began
con-sid-ering: do you know where you're going?
I climbed a hill when I was in my teens,
And my companion vomited on me.
Still, life is rather more like tinned sardines,
And all of us are looking for the key.
Some find the key, they pull the cover wide,
and eat sardines, so fishy and so fine.
There's still the bit you cannot reach, inside.
Is there in yours? I know there is in mine.
Remember this when life is hard and scary:
that I'm a smooth, my brother is an hairy.

(With apologies to Alan Bennett.)