Poems are for wusses, poems are plain gay
More words like that and I swear to God
I’ll make his head sway
Alcoholic Andy’s head, back and forth, back and forth it went
Till he finally got stopped in his tracks
That’s Game, Set and oh so very merry Event
He blasphemed every single word that I wrote
Drinking himself into a ridiculous stupor
Continuing on, sinking his already flailing boat
When he leaned upon the kitchen table
Roaring at my poor and defenseless mother
I landed a poem in his lap
Calling him utterly unstable
Grabbing the manuscript, I poked a bundle in his eye
When he so much as smacked me hard I had to cry
But I’d get the last laugh
Before long the blasphemous shrew grew a sty
When he goes down the pub and everything turns quiet
The pair of us will make a dash for it
Goddamnit, it really was high time we booked that flight