The bitch in the fixture
Was making the pace,
With acres of make up
Applied to her face.
She’d accused me of actions
Indecent and lewd,
In the first intermission,
With some ingénue.
So she made it her mission
To spruce up her part,
By the winning of sympathy
Upon the restart.
But her bib came unbuttoned,
Revealing to all,
A mistress of mutton,
Whose curtain had called.
So her cue cards were eased out,
Whilst my encore played,
And ran for all season
With a new protégée.
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