Paramedic first-aid comes in last,
The time for doctors has been and past,
Smilin’ Riley’s down on his luck :
He just got totalled by the fire truck.
But a proverb of sorts might some amaze,
For it was Riley who torched this little blaze,
A falling out with his neighbourhood parson
Drove Riley to church, intent on arson.
So away is Riley. To stoke the Fires of Hell,
Or perhaps up to Heaven, who can ever tell.
For Divine Providence, at times, directs our actions,
And the church did belong to the Mormon factions.
Yeah, Riley’s last supper was a T-bone steak,
And heard that his Missus was out on the make,
Screwing some preacher from the Salt Lake City.
(Hickeys on her neck, and one on either titty.)
Well the Riley’s in Boston are of temperaments even
A bit of bar-room brawling, a spot of festive thievin’.
But mess with their womenfolk, and the Apocalypse arises,
Four Horsemen working overtime, and coffins of all sizes.
So Riley grabbed his hammer, and a pocket full of nails,
Headed off for Calvary, to staple down some tails
Caught them in the cloisters, rutting like two hogs.
Aye, never cuckold a Paddy from the Irish bogs.
Crucified the pair , he did, above the altar high,
Nailed ‘em both upside-down, oblivious to each cry,
Then he doused the whole damn temple with a drum of kerosine,
And all the while a’whistlin’ “The Wearing of the Green.”
So Riley lit a candle, and spoke a gentle prayer,
Then lit up his Missus, around her pubic hair,
Watched the pair of fornicators incinerate to cinder,
Followed by the church, a stack of waiting tinder.
So if you want to screw around, beware of Vengeance’ Flames,
This applies to preachers all, and to married dames,
Tell your spouses what you will, smother them with lies,
But never cross a Paddy with fire in his eyes.