Saturday, May 26, 2012


The barman looked like Groucho Marx
but with his glassy eyes popping out on springs,
and his bow-tie span round and round
like a propellor, which now brings
me to his hair. It stood up on end,
or what was left of it, my friend.
Yes he surely was a damn funny sight,
yet I'd a lot to drink that night !

Yes I liked her, didn't love her.
Find she could not deal with that.
If you can't love what you like
an enemy's chances are damn-fat !

On go the boxers' gloves,
the first bell is then to sound.
Both men make a real mean face
and start to shove each other around.

One of them lashes out wild
and strikes his foe right in the teeth.
The battle is now underway,
to the winner the laurel, to the loser the wreath.

There are punches in the belly
and blows dealt to the chin.
Jabs that will blacken the eye
and dirty digs to bruise the opponent's skin.

In trying to knock the other half-dead
the crowd seems to come more alive.
Some might say it's just blood-money,
but the loser's been paid to take a dive.

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