Henry the Eight desiccated his dead wife
Though she had always
been a paragon,
Then she was finely
chopped and put in a jar
And that’s the tale of
Catherine of tarragon
Henry the Eight desiccated his dead wife
Though she had always
been a paragon,
Then she was finely
chopped and put in a jar
And that’s the tale of
Catherine of tarragon
The bride to be was at the Poultry farm
Watching the birds
scratching and pecking
And she was absolutely
raging, because
It wasn’t the hen
night she was expecting
Lily died as she wouldn’t give up wheat
Which was the death of
her
But she didn’t have an
allergy
She was killed by a
Combine harvester
My Great Grandfather never
Threw anything away in
his decade
Which was a shame really
As he was killed by a
hand grenade
Are you wearing a plastic Mac?
It’s a very practical
garment
But wearing it over
your clothes
Was the garments original
intent
There is always so much pressure
To be with people on a
holiday
But if there was only
one
On which to go your
own way
Then that one would of
course be
On Independence Day