Jungle Justice

Get me a matchstick And the rogue over there quickly pick. Or you fetch me smoker’s lighter, Whose flame is assuredly brighter, Pouring me out some petrol From our jeep long on patrol… Jungle Justice is beginning to itch like lust, Last week’s, a badgering must! The fair-play funded by fire And aided by vindictive tyre: An impatient crowd’s justice, Permitting no armistice: Rather like our dirty street, Every burnt body, a nice treat! Still rubber trying to locate? Or what it should cost calculate? Please, let me have a bundle of unsmiling ropes That should dash an escapee’s lurking hopes, With this ridding our society of a bandit… They’re real Trial Judges within our ambit. No sooner are their wigs worn Than The Hardened confessions are born: His true identities peeping back at you, Their impossible hideout proving to be true. Old timers freely recalling their first operation, A neat fingering of even the day of digression But now to them no show of leniency Nor our determined hands control their proficiency.