I knew a time of plenty,
Where I ate a feckless fruit.
Could not determine what I had,
So kicked the bastard in, to boot.
The 'Bard', oh so deserving,
Called me, 'a gobshite lad'.
For all I planned to savour,
Of a wordy fight of drunks, had.
Kick me' little knackers hard,
The boots of stomping warriors.
See if I care, you bloated fools,
I can have the 'gift of gab'.
Rebellion to the holy order,
Of lines and sonnets rhyme.
Has helped create a dementia,
To be solitary confined.
I see just what I'm doing,
Though couldn't care a toss !
For if you lot don't like it,
It will be your bleedin' loss !
I eat the last of Turkish delights,
When I tell, what is true.
Rich reason comes to satisfy,
Lyrically I'm as possessed as you.
Tall tales I can always tell,
Sending them up to holy hell.
Where nothing matters more than IT,
I alone deserve, to be full of $%it.........
But let's let, be-gone the bygones,
To share a laughing memory.
Delinquently I raise a toast,
What rhymes next, (hic) oh yeah. Dick Emery !
'An artistic folly, meant to harm no-one'.