How do you do it? Look in the mirror, and feel satisfied with your reflection
If it were me I would surely, bow my head in dejection
For anyone, with even a moderately
Your embarrassingly transparent, ill devised, subterfuge
If you were leather, you’d surely be faux
Quietly thinking and hoping, those who look upon you do not know
Fingers crossed, they can’t see you’re a fraud,
A half-arsed impression, a phoney, a plastic, pathetic replication
But like knock off sunglasses, sold on a beach, there are signs you’re a cheap imitation
Give aways and tells, that reveal, you’re a poor approximation
Like misspelt designer labels, with letters added or omitted
Under inspection, nah at a glance, you’d be found out in court, and charged, not acquitted
An official court would not be needed,
A Kangaroo court would suffice,
No experts required, so
And all for what? To fill an occupied niche?
A pointless endeavour, is your vague pastiche
I don’t know how you maintain such pep,
Or any spring, in your miniature step.
How can you be satisfied, and be so chippy?
Knowing all you
I think it’s a joke, that you call yourself a Wallaby,
When it’s clear for all to see,
What you are, is a Wannabe.