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
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