My home is in a vintage tin
Belonged to your great grandma
With many other varied breeds
Our cousins sorted into jars

I'm often fastened up tight
In British stiff collared fashion
Occasionally burst off
When shirts are ripped open
In the haste of frisky passion

In my other guise
When I am tapped
I connect you worldwide
My neighbour form words and stories
Whilst I encrypt some code for spies.

Machinery, you really need me
To start and then to stop
To raise alarm bells
And when pressed call the cops

I'm a round reminder
Of how life began
Innie or outie and proud
Of how mum's body nurtured your
In utero life-span

Dangerous in the wrong hands
I must be closely guarded
For if you press me
World war three
Could easily be started