Saturday, 5 February 2011

Acid Sid's Last Gasp.

Acid Sid was of disrepute.
He sold drugs to kids in a snazzy suit.
His pockmarked face was in a snarl
as he walked round with his mate Carl.

I put Carl in so that it would rhyme
but it was Sid alone who did the crime.
I chased him off; how he did cough.
He ran until his lungs gave out,
plus, he suffered terribly with chronic gout.

I said, "now look what drugs have done,"
he said, "I'll shoot you with my gun."
The bullet whistled past my head
and hit his mate Carl, who fell down; dead.

I felt guilty of a crime,
I'd introduced Carl to make it rhyme.
Acid Sid said, "I've another bullet."
He touched the trigger,but he didn't pull it.

His acidic lungs gave up on him,
His eyes rolled up, all glazed and dim.
The pain ebbed out of his gout riddled feet,
as he went to hell to face the heat.

The Downfall of a Food Critic

There was a food critic who criticised food.
His remarks about it were very rude,
He criticised here, he criticised there,
he even criticised the restaurants beer.
He would not drink and he would not eat.
Then one day in a restaurant he fell off his seat.
The Doctor declared, "he's critically ill,
Through picking at food and not getting his fill."
Now the critic was critical; a bit of a prat,
his limbs were no fatter than those of a gnat.
The Restaurant Chef said, "it served him right,
he came in earlier and criticised all night."
They took him to hospital and tucked him in bed,
and by the next morning he was critically dead.

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