Welsh Rarebit (cheese on toast if you prefer)
Easy to prepare, so no time wasted.
Lighted candles make it seem romantic.
Sure you’ll love it darling, once you’ve tried it.
Hard times these, so beggars can’t be choosers.
Render a little butter in the pan,
Add some Cheddar cheese and mustard to it.
Reminds me of my happy childhood days
Every time I have the urge to do it.
Brown bread toasted (bit healthier that white)
It’s time to serve it up by candlelight.
There, I said romance would blossom tonight!
Beggars can’t be choosers
They don’t talk of freedom
Beggars are intruders
Other folks don’t need them
Beggars always come across
With their foolish pride
Who would feel a genuine loss
If all beggars died?
TV heads would say they lose
Living their hard lives
Problem is they cannot choose
Choices dim their eyes
See them by the churchyard fence
They are skilled to catch your eyes
Asking if I have some cents
Telling the heartbreaking lies
But I look the other way
I shall spoil their company
Playing games the beggars play
They are too elite for me…
Each human have earned the right to be the architect of Their biggest disasters.' Or they can 'beg to differ'
Then they are choosers.' For none in Christ shall be loosers!
Historically, all wars have had winners and losers.
Also, lines were clearly drawn for the choosers.
World War 1 was a birthing room for World War 11.
From the ashes, there arose one with a different worldview.
Not since the African slave trade had the world been so unseemly.
An entire race of people was stripped of both life and liberty.
World War 111 promises, not better, but the worth ever conceived.
It bodes to be the most tragic of warfare that we would not believe.
There will be no gains or winners or bosses, but only losers and losses.
The final end-game will reflect the result of mankind's evil choices.
I'm not a would-be prophet and would much prefer to be wrong than right.
My hope is that in our darkest hour, Christ will shine the brightest light.
When a woman seems a preferable quality
Some folks will still have questions about her qualifications as long as she qualified to play
Her house role quietly and other things quickly.
As she succeeded to apprehend him in her
heart and he comprehended to live there.
Who can have power to cut that rope and elope
With one of them around nights or daytimes?
Question to some accidental luvs who quitted
So quickly while they were qualities qualified
By some choosers who quivering by their exquisiteness,
Whenever they appear sympathetically and romantically.
Folks who make life out of Vetch,
For their farms heading on ketch,
Their future they sometimes sketch;
None thinks he’s the truest wretch,
For labor does some hope fetch,
Though, Vetch would their choosers stretch…
Now, Hot Debates in the ketch!
“I can with Vetch accounts stretch,
Farther move from being a wretch.”
“But in Gold some their names etch
And Vetch can’t such nice dreams sketch”
“No! Vetch can the Big Name fetch
Quit the wretch that makes one retch”
So, say no more against Vetch…
United we are very strong unite
Divided we are very wrong unite
United we are very wise unite
Divided we need an advice unite
United we are the winners unite
Divided we are the losers unite
United we are the choosers unite
Divided we are the beggars unite
Come on unite now or never unite
People running for
their very lives
Really, now are
you surprised?
Your very pen,
voted for a leader,
far from wise.
America, overrun
with illegal
Covid patients!
Am sure many enjoy
this tragic comedy,
and slap their thighs.
The UN, will do nothing
at all, a bin of losers.
Much loved by infamous,
globalist choosers.
8/18/202i
1p.m. PST
Always been called a wee bit kooky
Another word to describe me is a wee bit goofy
Totally blame-free
Blame my funny genes
Tried normal but beggars can't be choosers
Comparisons are unerring things at worst;
Every common ore yielded for shinier gold,
And tepid junkets given up in apt forfeiture
For tolerably pricier carats unsullied stored.
Far less treasured lots perpetually stand
In shrouded paths to more pleasing deal,
And more often than not emit lures bland
To fade jollities owners of finer gems feel.
Prudent choosers are harder to hoodwink;
They're grateful to know how to swiftly tell
Vast variance between wee penny's worth
And huger wads quiet past old minas' kink.
They're merrier types closer to Midas lips;
Smarter-thinking pickers noted with strips
Of fair Fortune's higher turns beyond taste,
Loftier than Fancy's dreams and her haste.
With comparative logic one never can err,
Since brighter minds cheap choices abhor.
There are no sons of Eden
only descendants of The Fruit.
They do their best with what they can
as Able still lies blue.
Long cast out of Paradise
they till the worldly soil
and blame the Lord for all their pains
and all their sinful toil.
Some give thanks for what they've sewn,
conceited, humble-proud,
thinking they're the chosen ones
as Hell still overcrowds.
The Lord made do with what Cain left.
(beggars can't be choosers).
With sword held high they judge by The Fruit
that made each one a loser.
Sayonara,
the melanin haters love saying to us
With a foot stomp stomp,
and a wicked tone profane cuss:
“Good riddance to you,
ghetto cockroaches
400-years of your whiny fuss,
we done had enough”
In reply,
we annoying colored critters say:
“Yippie, yippie ka-yay!”
Oppression choosers,
colonial terrorist losers,
we don’t give a Hans Gruber
how you feel
It’s a thirty generation story fall —
We die hard,
but Nakatomi truth kills
Don’t try to mushroom sweep
our fungi pain under the spore rug
Hiroshima lies ...
Nagasaki cries ...
Internment hate you lip cancer love
We die hard,
but Nakatomi truth kills
Ain’t no Roy
coming to our rescue,
on a white horse Trigger
No worries, tho’ ...
We die hard,
but Nakatomi truth kills
Looks like that splat
on the ground
is only gonna get bigger
I'm on fire busting out from the flames used to be a city kid in the hood
pulling my own like a dog without its bone you got me thinking alone
vibrations to the temptations through the doorways in my mind
the streets are uneasy the wine is just fine getting me from behind
got me in the zone while I'm watching the classic epic, "Home Alone".
Beggars can't be choosers rap isn't for loosers keep ya head up G
they got their guns trying to have a bit of fun you know what I'm saying sun
many years ago let the truth be told there was a different episode to unfold
both Army & Navy take home the gravey but friends like to change the story
so why should we worry in a world in such a hurry bury me beneath the breeze
got hustlers pimping their ride young G in the hood up to no good
hearing the rap songs being played getting groovy in the shade
but this homeboy better act his age carry on in a rage
out in the street where peeps do meet having fun with their stereo lights
the are voices with choices like a bun in the oven sitting with my kissing cousins
they say it's crazy when I get a bit lazy and my nod is a bit hazy
falling apart at the seams eating delicious ice cream
Self-driving cars scare the hell out of me
What if they're female, I'd soil myself down past my knees
Now don't write me letters
Choosers can't be beggars
Love the chickies but these would make even my anti freeze
(Mary Custis was the wife of Robert E. Lee.
Union forces captured her ante-bellum
mansion in what is now Arlington Cemetery
and defiled it, because it was the only thing
of Lee's they could get their hands on.)
Suppose you kill Gaddafi and Hussein,
or sad old Nazis, huddled in the dock.
So what exactly do you think you gain?
Your own humanity is what you mock,
not them. The winners stringing-up the losers
can not be right. You heap your fury on
the halt and helpless. Beggars can’t be choosers,
but winners can. (Why not Ben-Gurion?)
Put Karadzic before a firing-squad
for spite, or just to entertain the flock,
but don’t disguise the ugly thing your lust is.
Don’t talk of Law, or Liberty, or God.
Go rape the home of absent Mary Custis,
if rape you must. Don’t dress it up as Justice.
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