It’s a shame that Brigitte Bardot  

Wasn’t born in Bordeaux  

To give her rhyme a better chance  

Than Paris, or just simply France. 

He won’t be driving home for Christmas  

Will Chris Rea  

But at least he got  

Fairly near. 

You can get if you really want,  

So sang Jimmy Cliff.  

But in the end he really got  

To be another stiff. 

She didn’t like the moose  

To snag her nice tweed jacket  

Nor did she appreciate  

Brahms Third Racket. 

A smoking guitar,  

A face from space,  

A shooting star,  

Farewell Ace. 

Today Rick Davies  

Of Supertramp  

Goes down into  

The cold and damp. 

Drink a toast  

And eat a sarnie  

To fashion designer  

Giorgio Armani. 

Blue Peter fans  

Will always credit her,  

Biddy Baxter,  

Producer and editor. 

Time for the pallbearers  

To carry dear Tom Lehrer.  

We leave him with our sentiments  

As he goes to join the Elements. 

It’s time to write a slogan  

For Hulk Hogan.  

We’d like to see him wrestle  

Out of his wooden vessel. 

Cleo Laine  

Won’t sing again,  

The queen of scat  

Now lies flat. 

Ozzy Osbourne  

Was born,  

But now John  

Is gone. 

Brian Wilson  

Wrote Pet Sounds  

But he’ll no longer  

Get Around. 

Further sombre  

Circumstances  

Summon mourners  

For Pope Francis. 

If your ambition  

Is to become a filmer  

You’ve missed your chance  

With Val Kilmer. 

Saint Peter,  

Heaven’s doorman,  

Now greets  

George Foreman. 

She wasn’t killed Softly  

Was Roberta Flack  

But still she ends up  

On her back. 

Marianne Faithfull  

Wasn’t stabbed by a dagger  

But often she had been  

Poked by Mick Jagger. 

The film business  

Will feel the pinch  

At the loss  

Of David Lynch.