The Gnome and his Snakes
He often was seen holding court
In the corner of the wine bar,
Quaffing "only the best claret, m'dear"
His disciples took care to surround him
For fear of intrusion by lower beings,
Those whose social standing fell short,
And whose tastes were less polished, less focussed
And sup your brown ale
And new world wine elsewhere.
The top bench has no place
For you with me"
In private, his name vexed him
For he'd far rather have been called
Something regal or dignified.
Edward, William or Thomas maybe.
But no, he was stuck with
Neil the Gnome
With the grandiose home
And the dead-fish handshake.
And kiss my arse.
Friends of Neil,
Snakes in the grass.
Guilty as charged.