He calls himself the professor but really I must profess
He’s an out and out imbecile, always latching onto one poor soul or other
Truth be told I pity his mother, dead and buried, on the other side after years of pain, utter disdain
She can hide
Spoke to him the other day, a way with words my arse, nothing but a drunk with no such class
People don’t like him but I knocked back my pint, gave him the time simply for no other reason than to add to my rhyme
If he reads this he’ll hit the roof, proof in writing of all his shenanigans, his fighting
Sold his wife to a boat full of sailors for the night
Fact of the matter is this, they got a fright as soon as they saw her face

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