Lizzie Borden took an axe to her dear old Dad,
His constant cutting her down drove her mad,
Yet even as he fell victim to foul patricide
He felt for his wild child a slice of paternal pride;
She’d proved she came from hard-working Irish stock,
With a chip on her shoulder, a real chip off the old block.
Maw was not best pleased with what she saw,
She stood, in bits and pieces, looking over Paw,
Stepmum looked appealingly at step-daughter
Hoping Lizzie would settle for manslaughter,
She hoped to survive and to head off any scandal
‘Cause Liz and the axe had both flown off the handle.
But Lizzie produced from under her pinafore a hatchet-
Lizzie had her plan and she planned to despatch it,
She did not hear her stepmums pleas of ‘Stop! Stop!’
Lizzie was keen to get stuck in, chop chop.
What a pity dear old Dad, so recently laid to rest
Didn’t see Liz working away like a woman possessed.
But since the trial our Lizzie is doing well,
No longer constrained in her padded cell
She’s free to glumly walk the guarded grounds,
She dourly nods at the Doc doing his rounds,
That tragic face rarely bears an authentic smile,
But sometimes, as she lingers by the wood pile…
Over Paradise falls a dark and stifling pall,
The President has decided to call,
He’s in a Blue State, showing humanitarian concern,
It’s enough to make his red Republican heart burn.
The sight is enough to make Don hyperventilate-
That senseless loss of all that high-end real estate.
As Don steps around the smoking debris
His discomfiture is plain for all to see,
Don can barely stand to be seen walking beside Jerry Brown,
His burning desire is to hot foot it out of town.
Though we see Don and Jerry standing together
Any friendship will prove as fickle as the weather.
This place is not where Don wants to dwell,
This piece of Paradise has gone to Hell,
He’s fielding a few burning questions from the few townsfolk,
Don cannot wait to get his butt back to the Big Smoke.
Don leaves, with, as an afterthought, a prayer-
Usually offered when smoke and cordite fill the air.
So, you’re going to renew your Saudi passport?
I suggest you give it long and considered thought,
It’s no magical kingdom, it’s more a bone-dry resort
Where you may find your stay cut uncomfortably short.
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.