If you can sell your spread when all about you
Are writing clapbacks and blaming it on you;
If you can merch yourself when all the posters doubt you,
But post emoji later for a spare uncle too;
If you can whinge and not be tired by whinging,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise;
If you can dream- and sell it to Oprah after;
If you can go to Eton and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can reject triumph and court disaster
And write another book just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
Retweeted and keep going on like a fool
Or watch the netflix contract you sold your life to broken,
And stoop quite a lot lower with a frozen tool;
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on the wife's luxury jam,
And lose, and unflounce back to your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your ginger and thinning locks
To serve your hairline long after they are gone,
And so moan on when there is no substance in you
Ignore Will.who says “please make it stop”;
If you can get security for imagined crowds and demand your ravec retinue,
Or walk away from the King and lose the common touch;
If neither Frogmore or BP can accommodate you;
If US and GB disagree with you, You're not asking too much;
If you can fill the unnecessary minute
With sixty seconds’ worth of droaning on-
Yours is the storefront and everything that's sold on it,
And -which is more- you’ll have luxury jam, spare son