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Beside my knife, so sharp and cool
A piece of chilly chalk I feel
Perhaps that is a nice, fine tool
With which a funny joke to deal
I rush along, through street and lane
A piece of clotted cloth I hold
Cut off of her, the whore just slain
For something silly that she told
Inside a door, so moist and dark
The place for funny pun to play
I want to do this on a lark
But find no stupid word to say
-
So I just drop the relic rag
And get the hell away!
"You can rob me, you can starve me and you can beat me and you can kill me. Just don't bore me."
Clint Eastwood as Gunny in "Heartbreak Ridge"
Sam, if we just had some kind of prize we could award for your effort we would. Also, Jon Guy's poem in post 5 is a favorite of mine.
I revised this one a little.
Upon the Night
Upon the night Jack was espied
It was the night two women died
The fiirst he cut her, Lizzie Stride
And then so quiet a pony shied
An evil surging all through him
The syph a’sucking at his vim
The vile man goes out on a limb
And searches by the city rim
Sweet Catherine upon the Square
He’s evil dear, please be aware
But no, he hacks her up right there
And then heads back unto his lair
He pulls up by the public bath
And writes The Jews will have the wrath
The dark cloaks down now round his path
But the dear ones souls we know God hath.
Sam, if we just had some kind of prize we could award for your effort we would.
Thanks, Roy - but I just realised I was missing a couplet from each verse. Here's a new version y'all can sing along with...
THE LITTLE(CHILD) LIST SONG (Version 2.0)
If someday it should happen that a suspect must be found
I've got a little list, I've got a little list
Of American malfeasants who are often leather-bound:
The mad self-flagellist, the sadomasochist.
The type of man who dresses up in women's underwear,
Who tucks his thing between his thighs, pretending it's not there.
The sort who boasts of conquests, but who never conquered aught,
Who chases after women, but who’d rather not get caught,
And who, confronted with some shag, would rather do the twist -
I've got 'im on the list, I've got 'im on the list.
There's the sort who'd wax satyrical his handlebar moustache,
The dandy facialist - I've got him on my list;
The guy who hangs out with the boys and showers them with cash,
He never will be missed, he never will be missed.
The advertising quack who bores with tales of countless cures,
The sort who likes to tie you up, and jab your skin with skewers;
The type of man who’d thank you if you spanked him on the bum,
Who’d rather like the Navy - if it wasn’t for the rum.
And he who, clapped in manacles, would slip one off the wrist -
That randy herbalist, I've got 'im on the list.
There's the man who pickles matrices and keeps them in a jar,
The hysterectomist - I've got 'im on the list;
He may have done a moonlight flit, but won't get very far,
That escapologist - he'll not for long be missed.
For I have put upon his tail a colleague from the Yard,
Who'll not fail to re-arrest him; well, it surely can't be hard!
He'll chase him over continents, and make his life a Hell
Then he'd take him to the station, where we’d bang him in a cell -
And if we don't, he'll not evade the ripperologist
Who simply can't resist to keep him on the list.
Jack the Ripper
Is the bane of Scotland Yard,
All the Bobbies too
For though they seek him here,
And seek him there,
When an unfortunate is dead,
Jack the Ripper's never found!
"Inspired" by "Macavity" from "Cats"-- sorry, Mr. Eliot...
One hundred years and thirty plus,
Jack's name is unknown but not his deeds.
Bloody, bloody Ripper,
Where ever he wandered,
His moniker was left behind.
It was written once white upon black
that Jews were on the attack,
But when faced with the truth
it was deemed too uncouth,
And Ripperology is forever setback.
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