Dignity for Sixty Six Possible Consonants
'Twas on the 8th of August that the taxman came to call
But Algernon was ready with his pick
He'd also scattered forty-seven landmines in the hall
And wakened his Rottweiler with a kick
Young Algy hadn't paid his tax for more than twenty years
The bills went back before his date of birth
And though he had a feeling that it all might end in tears
He knew that it could scarcely end in mirth
The Customs Men attacked at dusk, with tear gas and a horn
And dog-repellent squirting from a hose
They swore they'd make our Algy rue the day that he was born
And feed his minced-up thorax to the crows
But Algy had a plan to lead them on a paper path
An everlasting bonfire at its end
And though he realised this was no time to take a bath
A flaming loofah proved his foremost friend
The Revenooers saw too late they'd walked into a trap
A shower-curtain swung before their eyes
They little knew that Algy was an enterprising chap
Who looked like Alfred Hitchcock in disguise
Their time spent scrutinising forms availed them little now
In triplicate our Algy's traps were sprung
With poisoned spikes, a yawning pit, a phosphorescent cow
A flaming loofah daubed with dingoes' dung
The moral of our little tale is plain for all to see
And 'Be Prepared' is still a worthy motto
If you don't care a jot for income tax or VAT
Preferring to remain a trifle blotto
Returning fire is better far than filing a return
Discretion's not the better part of valour
And those who try to grab an undue slice of what you earn
Shall lose the fight, but not their deathly pallor
| Contributors: | TG, Roland, P. |
| Poem finished: | 20th October 2003 by TG. |