Hell Hath No Fury Like His Mother's Belt
Hell hath no fury like his mother’s belt.
It descends with such power, in tune with his yelp.
She shouts, “What d’ya mean you forgot?
I said, ‘Clean the sink!’”
Then the belt meets his bum turning wan skin pink.
small or great;
She’ll be irate.
That whip is no stranger
Just you wait.
Her unbridled temper…
Soon, her blood will seethe…
Her blood will boil.
She’s void of ruth and merciless,
Like a man consumed by love of pelf.
The poor little boy, held under duress
By a mother who’d thrash the devil himself.