Murder at Three Mile Creek pub over a debt.

He floors old man Huggard with a big king hit,
and he goes down hard, a fleshy hessian sack of shit,
stands over him droolin' and says, "Its been two weeks Jim...
where's me dosh?",
he pulls out a pistol, a knife and a cosh,
"I'm full a' homicide and hate,
I'm full a' fiscal woe, I got four mouths to feed,
and two bastards in tow,
I got gout, the clap and weep ear to boot
and owe a pound of me flesh to Ghoulie De Groot,
an' your'e lying there with yer pockets full of moths,
and you tell me your skint an' living off of offal broth",
and he aims the gun right at Jim Huggard's head,
lets rip three hot volleys of angry killing lead.
"Here's a farewell from the dark lord of goodbyes!"
The barman shrieks and the old soaks sigh,
an' he orders a drink, one for Huggard one for him,
pours the double through the wound so his brains swim in gin,
"He had it comin' the silly bugger" and he gives him a grin,
"Here's to Jim...to Jim...friggin' Jim".