Sir Henry William George Monet

Sir Henry William George Monet,

A poshly nob from Juppa,

Sat merely idle, day by day,

And sipped his kettle cuppa

Though art and maths, he reckoned not

For he'd rather not be bothered,

He'd mastered sitting on his cot,

And let himself get pothered.

So, blokes saw him as what he was,

A royal kind of nit,

And showed him naturally because

Pure slaggings, did they spit.

And every day they'd "hobble" by,

To simply take the mick,

And he'd stumble out and bally cry:

"I'll put you in the nick!"

Until one day, the yougins saw

The codger in for kip.

They snuck inside, and nicked the lot,

And dashed it in a skip.

And arousing from his humble sleep,

While they were all in stitches,

He saw, in stark, while gutted deep,

His belongings in the ditches

But to their absolute surprise,

He didn't call the bobby,

But rather, cried a tear, wiped his eyes,

And returned into his lobby.

For what those chavs had not discovered,

Why Sir Henry'd not condemn,

Was his entire house, asbestos covered...

So he'd cried a tear for THEM.

-Cale Kenneth Montoya (03/01/23)