My grandmother had to shoo Doddy
out of her kitchen.
Unnanounced full of plumptiousness
and good cheer, trying to sell her dinner plates off his cart.
Good job she did
since then
he’s never looked back.

Doddy is Liverpool and has taken us
to every theatre in the land,
selflessy giving so much of Liverpool away
but never leaving his beloved city.
He is our most famous ambassador
who, apart from shooting a few comic cows,
always behaves with total proprietary.
The Revenue (obviously not Scousers,)
paid back with two million laughs at every show,
where it's ‘nil by mouth’ before you go,
too scared to miss a single joke.
Doddy's like the moon pulling the tide,
dragging you on a marathon journey of hysteria.

Their starting Comedy Clinics in the NHS
now they've realised sick people get better quicker
after they've had a good laugh.
Doddy Medication is all they need
he been curing people for decades,
mind you
how many ribs he’s cracked
and how many women he’s sent into labour
we'll never know.

Doddy is the worlds only Comic Savant
a Mastermind of Mirth
his achievements (incalculable,)
go beyond ordinary genius.
Maybe the Queen hasn’t made him
a Knight of the Garter yet,
the ceremony would finish in daylight
and she wouldn’t be able to raise her sword
- for laughing.

But if I were to finish with just one line,
“On the road to Mandalay,”
betcha I make you smile.

By J. Blakemore