The First 4 Years (Before the rest is the same)

I worry sometimes I'm too crude and not funny,
I worry that much of the time my poo's runny,
I worry that often I talk about poo,
And that people will stop on the street and shout, 'You!,
'You are the girl with the lines full of shit,
And a total lack of political wit.
You are the girl who can barely write puns,
The one who's too honest about getting the runs.
You never have comment on topical events,
It's not even that you sit on the fence;
It's just you ignore it and talk about crap,
And occasionally your brother, who sounds like a sap.

Why can't you be more like our GOD Stewart Lee,
Who we worship, amazed (atheistically).
Why don't you have Kitson's power of emotion,
Charter new routes on the comedy ocean?
You're not Josie Long and you should aspire
To produce something stronger with a hint of satire,
You've not got a single original joke,
That would make someone think, and that might provoke
A feeling of change in the heart of a punter
You're a slowly developing comedy cu... er?

What's this spectacular display of ambivalence?
Simply a feat of outstanding resilience?
Or are you OK with a slow burning dream?
Where most of your gigs will doubtlessly seem
Like a nightmare consisting of very little funny,
Accompanied by less than the least sum of money.
You might never kill with the most efficient walk,
But you'll certainly learn how to think and to talk
With a passion that fuels all the Edinburgh shows,
And a pride in your work that invariably glows.

You're OK with the travel, low budget and grit,
Because you can tell the world you struggle with shit
And some folks will say that you'll never survive,
But anything's better than plain 9-5.