Feast Of Clive

Timothy Taylor wrung his hands
Not knowing what to do.
Thursday had come round again,
The day his rent was due.
He'd been out drinking Friday night
And used up all his cash,
And now he felt like such a cunt
As he fingered his moustache.

The clock struck one, the doorbell rang,
Poor Timmy felt quite sick.
He knew his landlord rather well,
He truly was a prick.
He knew his landlord would not like
To hear the rent was late.
An evil man his landlord was,
A man our Tim did hate.

The landlord walked into the flat
And bellowed "Where's my rent?"
"I'm sorry, but I... Oh my God...
Is it true that you're quite bent?"
A twinkle hit the landlord's eye,
"My Boy," he said "I'm gay,
And if you cannot pay in cash,
We'll find some other way.

Just get your pants off over there,
And bend over, I'll be quick..."
Poor Timmy stood and gasped,
"Oh God... is that really all YOUR dick?"
"What this old thing? Oh no! There's more!"
The landlord laughed and roared,
Then reaching down into his pants
He pulled out 10 yards more.

The landlord's dick, when quite erect,
Was 23 feet 5,
And our poor Tim began to think
He'd not escape alive,
So shivering he dropped his pants,
And waited for the pain,
And thought of how he'd spent his rent,
And how he wouldn't, ever again.

- Kate Rancid (b. 1973)