A wee irish ditty.

Think i might be a bad boy now
so they see I've got a black soul
little Suzie's growin colder by the fireplace
but I'll be makin saint nick bring more coal
stole the guiness money from my mama's purse
touched the custard from a dead dog's eye
collection paid to see Steve's sis undress
'n' I showed warnt only salvos men could lie.
Papa tried to change the prison watch
but hunger strikes don't work when there's no food
and I would go and see him but
We're none both ever in the mood
And the prefects a real dickghead, gunna show him some and some
there's still plenty time 'night left for something lude
but I'll just end up blamin John.

O', the fog o'er the bog is breezing nigh
and it's such a lovely poet's way to die
W'out Nut'n!
Alchic fumes and ancient runes
and lonely rooms
of lusty nuns
why don't they just
go to the beach
Ain'one'ere
Lacivious dunes
'nd such.
So let sleeping men lie
and they'll get better
or they won't.