Old Sir Mick just keeps on a’rolling,
Geriatric Mick prefers jiving to strolling,
But now, in his seventies his step’s begun to stutter
His high-living past has set his stony heart all a’flutter.
A dickey heart valve needs refurbishment
For Micks old ticker’s taken some punishment,
There’s no doubt when it comes to wear and tear
Micks plucky organ’s done more than its fair share.
Now the old pump is suffering from overuse,
But in Micks case it sure ain’t down to self abuse,
Cigarettes and bad habits have contributed to his current issues
But his old wives and girlfriends won’t be reaching for the tissues.
It’s our old and loved Easter family tradition,
It’s followed with an almost religious conviction,
We’ll gather round the table in a reverential hush
And look forward to a chocolate charged sugar rush.
There the eggs lay, dark, inviting;
Or the white rabbit, ready for biting.
Every member has an egg that suits them best,
Last year, I found my Reese’s egg too rich to digest,
This year I’m making heavy going of my marshmallow
Finding my annual sweet treat’s become a trial to swallow.
As it uneasily lies there, congealing
I’m bound to say I prefer a hollow feeling.
Sorrowfully sitting in his cell
Is new inmate ex-Cardinal Pell,
Publicly his innocence he still professes,
Though to his God he quietly confesses,
‘Lord, it was only the occasional lap lapse;
Lord, hoping for celibacy is all well and good
But there’s little or nun of that in the priesthood.’
But from above, if He heard
There’s not been one little word,
He would have thought one-
The Father or His blessed son-
Or that ethereal wraith-
Would speak to a man of faith,
But yet, not one uplifting sound;
How loud Gods silence doth resound.
Now that Mr Pell has been solitarily confined
He has time to, unmolested, scour his mind,
One day is an eternity in this Hellish place,
Though being banged up in solitary is his saving grace,
George has gone from shooting the papal bull
To hearing a cardinals word is not indisputable,
And what he saw as an innocent Church affair
Is turning into his worst unfrocking nightmare.
By Kingman we were heartily tired of traveling and the take-out Big Mac
So we sat us down at Cracker Barrel, picked up a menu and kicked back,
We ordered us some vittles, and I settled on the junior pancake stack
When I saw a diner walk out with a doggy bag the size of a potato sack.
As the waitress gamely heaved it before me I heard the groaning table crack,
The portions plated up at Cracker Barrel make *Hungry Jacks look cheap-jack,
Bacon, pancakes, butter, maple syrup, or as they say in the US, a light snack,
You may think I’m joking, but believe me, I’m serious as a heart attack.
*Hungry Jacks in Australia, Burger King in the US.
The full moon shone down, bright and clear
As she left the pub full of cider and good cheer,
When from out of the shadows ol’ Dracula did appear
She gave out a cry as down her thigh ran a…frisson of fear.
This sure put a dampener on the nights atmosphere.
The Count slid towards her with a lecherous leer,
She feared this was her dying day as he drew near,
As his fangs grazed her neck she whispered in his ear
Bitter words no salivating vampire ever desires to hear.
Immodest confessions no fair Catholic maid could volunteer.
She has developed quite the reputation round here,
Has an accommodating nature that’s sure to endear,
Her maidenhood hadn’t withstood her sixteenth year,
She’d long laid her honor to rest, and not shed one tear.
So while she’s lying safely abed, Drac’s crying in his bier.