I am Tea Bag

I am Tea Bag all fine and swift
At the begining of the week
Like a fine mans darjeeling or Earl Grey
Swooping on the Victorian Display
Quaffing and Quaying
As by the end of the week
I tend to sower like a dodgy smart price tea
With felt falling to pieces
Like a cheap PG Tips
Falling out for the mucky builders
And frumpy towns ends
And not so much the upper class trends
Or those in trends of the floating leaves
Herbs floating in gold blends
Of Rich flavoured brain cells do decend
As I wake up almost new every morning
To be battered against the edge of a cup
Straining every last molocule of my 200th of a brain cell
As they float around in warm water
To colour it a feverent Brown
Rosehip Red or Roobosh dead
All to end up with mud inflicted crustiness
With Ponchos of White Ridiculed mess
Oi your a Tea Bag at best!