THAT'S YOUR LOT!

On either side of the bed they lay
Not looking forward to the day
She’s wondering if he will stay;
Does he love her, or what?
She tries to give a loving kiss
To show him just what he would miss -
He shakes her off – she hears him hiss:
‘Ok girl, that’s your lot!’

She sits up, looks him in the eye –
Speaks in a voice so cold and dry:
‘Now tell me just what you mean by
Saying that’s my lot!’
He sits up too and lights a fag
Throws back his head and takes a drag.
Says ‘You’ve become a right old slag.
Now get out. That’s your lot’.

She leaves the bed, she leaves the room,
Goes downstairs, fetches mop and broom –
And an instrument to seal his doom –
‘We’ll see who’s had their lot!’
She rushes in, the angry wife –
He’s been a bully all his life.
Too late he sees the kitchen knife
And knows he’s had his lot.

The wound is small and rather neat
She smiles and thinks revenge is sweet
Then wraps the carcass in a sheet.
And ties it in a knot.
She pulls the body down the stairs
Cleans the bed and scrubs the chairs.
There’ll be no-one left who cares
That he has had his lot.

She puts him in the wheelie bin
And wonders if it is a sin.
She’s so glad to see the last of him
He deserved all that he got.
She wheels him down to the old canal
And shoves him in, then wipes her brow.
He’s with the other rubbish now –
So let the bugger rot.

Later, back in her old place
She muses : ‘You had a handsome face.
Shame you were such a waste of space.
Now you’re gone – and I’m not!
You thought you were an alpha male
But you spent most of your life in jail!
I certainly won’t weep or wail!
Goodbye mate. That’s YOUR lot!’