A Ridiculous Rhyme About a Mole

Young Freddy the mole was sat deep in his hole
Lazily scratching his testicles
When suddenly a thought popped into his head
'I could do with a new pair of spectacles'

So he hurried aloft, where the grass was so soft
And the dew, it smelt sweeter than honey
Then patting his pockets, he said to himself
'Oh bollocks, I ain't got no money!'

And so, off he went, to where money was lent
By a hedgehog known as the banker
But the prick had succumbed to Tourettes disease
And kept shouting, 'Fuck off, you wanker'

But, quick as a flash, Fred grabbed some of his cash
And stuffed it into his pocket
I saw him race by and, without a word of a lie
He was going as fast as a rocket

Now crime doesn't pay, at least that's what they say
And it seemed to be true in this instance
For young Fred went to jail, but was let out on bail
As he loudly protested his innocence

But his trial went ahead, and with a feeling of dread
The prosecutor called his first witness
'Twas the prickly runt, shouting, 'Fuck off, your honour'
At the judge, who declared his unfitness

Fred's case was dismissed. He went home and got pissed
And spent the next day quite hungover
And that's all to be said for this young mole called Fred
As this ridiculous rhyme is quite over

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