Hello Jane.
Any news?
News of phoning Phil and booze.

And drink-related falling down.
And unrelenting talking crap.
That started at a match in town,
Near a shop with beer on tap.

An afternoon of refs and boos.
More than boos towards their foes.
They spoke in words with F's and U's,
And used a 'you' right after those.

And then a pub that Billy knows,
A birthday party with some friends.
They drank until it's time to close,
Another round and their night ends.

A shortcut home through the woods.
The eyes of owls peered down on them.
A dark foreboding in the clouds,
That moved across the moon above,
A sense of doom,
And what's that sound?

They stood deep in the darkest woods
And listened for a sound.
An eerie silence filed the night.
A total darkness all around,
Apart from one green woodland path.
A faint glow lit up the ground.
They followed that
And soon they found
A telephone
Of brightest white,
Glowing in its ghostly light.

With nothing else that they could do,
And nowhere else to go,
Phil picked it up and said hello.
And heard a voice he says he feared:
"Don't say a word about the beard."

He put it down and looked around,
And found that they had company.
Surrounded by the little men.
Many of them stood and stared.
"Did something happen to your beard?"

Phil said that.
He knew he shouldn't.
Keeping it to himself,
He couldn't.

The little men had sticks and rocks.
They chased Phil and his friends away
Through the trees,
Beneath the owls.
They laughed and sang,
Those little men,
Clearly having lots of fun.
Phil and all his friends had none.

Those little legs put to the test,
They all agreed to stop and rest,
To have a break,
And have a chat.
It's a hard life as the little men,
Smoking pipes, guarding gold,
Running 'round and jumping too,
And out all night.
They're getting old.

And they said Einstein once told them
(not the Albert E,
This one bred donkeys in his shed),
This Einstein said he'd get them a pony,
To ride through the woods.
His first name was Tony.

This Anthony Einstein, more of a crook,
Gave them a dog. Their money he took.

The dog had a wig that looked like a mane.
It kept his head warm and dry in the rain.

The thought came to Phil
That they're not very clever,
A feeling he had.
It's true that he's never
Met any people like these in the past.
He'd be quite happy if they were the last.

"Look at that!" is what Phil said,
And pointed too into the trees.
Each little man turned his head.
Phil and co escaped with ease.

They woke up in a field next day.
Beneath a tree, beside a gate.
"I blame it on the drink," they say.
"Or that Rice Crispy cake I ate."