You don't need a shotgun to do today's crimes

The weaponry's different in digital times;

You'd think that I would have bugger all left

As victim of cyber identity theft;

For somewhere out there I'm sure that there'll be

A bloke called John Coopey – but he is not me!

A brazen young scalliwag – only he'll be

Not some young scuzzie but seventy three.

 

His trousers'll now not stop up without braces

He finds he can't bend to tie his shoe laces

He's shuffling along at the speed of a snail

He's needing a blacksmith to cut his toe nails

And no doubt by now he's got caught unawares

Puzzling just why he is halfway upstairs

He's bid his farewells to past sexual bliss

He looks like a tramp and he's stinking of piss.

 

I'm guessing by now I know just how he feels

He's seeing he's got the rough end of the deal

And now realising as things have turned black

He'll be wanting to give my identity back

But “Fuck him!” I say, “For the time he's got left

Let him enjoy my identity theft!”