I dye my hair and wax my chest, I’m a metrosexual man.
Don’t let the wrinkles fool you, and the mane it is all mine
My fingers long and sensual, my sense of self divine.
I’m an author of great hubris, I’m a writer of great note
I’ve a column in the Herald, where I never do misquote.
I like to air my point of view, loquacious and effusive
But if you cross me, do beware, I can become abusive.
My persona it's a mystery, my psyche reinvented
Into a Rake named Cleaver, though my lack of luck lamented.
As I gathered up a harem, of angels it transpires
Who tend to all my wants and needs, though not to my desires.
Yet I’m decent and I’m honest, and if someone says I’m not
A writ I'll quickly issue, and I'll take them for the lot.
So when I said I’d pay you, that I’d meet your taxi fare
I wasn’t telling porkies, it's just that I don’t care.