Death, you is my woman now.
You is all that's left for me
since you snaffled Laura-Lee
leaving me to wonder how
life goes on. OK I bow
to your every whim, but gee
Death
we is cruising for a row
if you dawdle aimlessly.
Shift your ass! What's it to be?
Chicken flu or crazy cow,
Death?
(after François Villon, 'Mort, j'appelle de ta rigueur')
