Basher the Boxer

Basher used to fight with all his might Until he died, "poor thing". He boxed four rounds and hit the ground After taking one on the chin From a boxer called Biff Who made short thrift Of anyone that he fought He had a flair but didn't play fair Like others thought, he ought Basher was in a daze as on the canvas he laid He realised he was over the hill. He took a painful swallow His stomach felt hollow Trying to digest this bitter pill Basher couldn't remember if it was in round three or four He heard a bell Was he going to Hell, Or was he at Heavens door The crowd roared As Basher was floored and lay dying on the ground No remorse expected of course as A good time had all round