Shoddy Roddy Out-Kilcoynes Louis
¶ 1
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He must have thought himself astute,
This shameless and ill-mannered brute,
With morals feeble and minute,
Dressed up in brash and shiny suit.
This cancer, which has taken root,
Within the soft and fleshy fruit,
Has spawned a foul and poisoned shoot,
With scorn and hate in swift pursuit.
Never one for staying mute,
This student at life’s institute
Has plucked the desecrated lute
And charmed the snakes with monstrous flute.
No pleadings ever can dilute
The way that he stuck in the boot,
Was morally so destitute.
Nor can his new-found club refute
The accusations so acute.
The facts, way, way beyond dispute
By all, do surely constitute
A charge of wilful disrepute.
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