The Man who said “How Tickled I am”
Has shed his mortal coil,
But downcast faces, sad old friends,
Would make his red blood boil.
I think he’d want to see us laugh,
And use our chuckle bones,
We’ll watch those clips of his old shows
Then share them on our phones.
His singing, an acquired taste,
His clothes were sometimes brash,
But he will be remembered
As the King of Knotty Ash.