The Plumber

There once was a man, a New Yorker Who was truly a cocky corker He loved best his wife, and fixing bath pipes With Bronx accent, a hearty talker Fifty years he’d labored and toiled Keeping pipes un-rusted and oiled When no water drained, the women complained, “Come fix it! ‘Cause the floor is now soiled!" With light in hand he crawled under sinks Slithered and slid among all those chinks He worked for the money for his honey No more teasing or joking high-jinks Water flowed; it’s time to retire Move South where old people perspire Riding on 'trikes with high flying flags With large baskets for folks to admire He never thought he'd have such sore bones "Tho he's always been accident prone Pedaling by his now startled wife He's riding through three time zones!