A Ridiculous Rhyme About a Mole

©2007 Ian Hobson

Young Freddy the mole was sat deep in his hole

Lazily scratching his testicles

When suddenly a thought popped into his head

'I could do with a new pair of spectacles'

So he hurried aloft, where the grass was so soft

And the dew, it smelt sweeter than honey

Then patting his pockets, he said to himself

'Oh bollocks, I ain't got no money!'

And so, off he went, to where money was lent

By a hedgehog known as the banker

But the prick had succumbed to Tourettes disease

And kept shouting, 'Fuck off, you wanker'

But, quick as a flash, Fred grabbed some of his cash

And stuffed it into his pocket

I saw him race by and, without a word of a lie

He was going as fast as a rocket

Now crime doesn't pay, at least that's what they say

And it seemed to be true in this instance

For young Fred went to jail, but was let out on bail

As he loudly protested his innocence

But his trial went ahead, and with a feeling of dread

The prosecutor called his first witness

'Twas the prickly runt, shouting, 'Fuck off, your honour'

At the judge, who declared his unfitness

Fred's case was dismissed. He went home and got pissed

And spent the next day quite hung-over

And that's all to be said for this young mole called Fred

As this ridiculous rhyme is quite over