The Tichborne Claimant

Big and fat, here he comes
All his fingers look like thumbs
Mother dearest, look who’s here
It’s your long-lost loving son
Brush aside your fears
Look: he’s got his uncle’s ears
So he’s a little fatter — it doesn’t matter
A lot can happen in eleven years
And inside every fat man
Is another man who’s thin
Even his own mother wouldn’t recognise him
Why the dickens should I believe him
Has he given me one good reason?
Of course he hasn’t
If he’s the heir apparent
Appearances can be deceiving
Names are not important
Sir Roger Tichborne or Arthur Orton
From stealing cattle to an aristocrat
He’ll sell his soul to claim his fortune
And outside every thin man
Is another man who’s fat
Only a mother could love a face like that