Tory Doors
Tory door
The
terrible curse of
the Tory boor,
To cheat your
brother, rob him
sure,
To steal from his
downtrodden wife,
To want - not yours,
The curse does bite,
Moral flaws 4 sure,
4 greed doth oil the
wheels and cogs,
Avarice a-plenty 4
Tory dogs,
Would steal the fur
right off the frogs,
If they had sign of
any?
So seventy years if
ya heart don't fail,
You can rob the
poor, get wages
stale,
And death can jerk
your gorged
entrails,
But can you pay ole
Charon any?
So poor again,
beside the Styx,
You sob with other
Tory hicks:(
Ac-cursed, by the
greed that sticks,
Saint Peter isn't
friendly???
Don Johnson
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