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THREE BOOZERS

Worsted Verse by Shoe.

Three boozers being blotto

And sick to death of Keno

Took on themselves entire change

Of course out of their baggies

Into kit less dog-eared

But their prospects were the first to rearrange.

Said the first I am a loser

I have never backed a winner

Not a horse, a game or dog on this life’s track

The second said I’m surer

For my hair’s just like fencing wire

And my teeth are all quite stained from drinking rye

The third said I’m a fibber

The biggest ever hired

I am a proper spinner

I never et my dinner.

It seemed from where they lent

Their trinity bespoken

That could they get some other besots

Lead all to heaven

The chains upon all mortal souls

Theirs, ours, yours, broken

God above, Best On High The Holy

Would smile on their affray

And grant World Sanctimony

Hence back and forth and forth and back

They gathered each to other.

Boomed a voice…

“TOO LATE YOU CAN’T COME IN!”

“Wait on! Most Lord God On High Your Honour

We are a protest movement

Bit wobbly, but full of moment

And you all look like DONKIES with the mange!!!”

(It could of ended better).