For life he lusts,
Beneath that shaggy mane,
Sprinkled with gold dust,
Set in a denim frame.
A fellow commentator,
On the peculiar nature,
Of the cruel spatula,
That serves gruel only to a bachelor.
Oh! The consultations I must fair,
With ladies of various dispositions,
On how exactly they could ensnare,
This dear chap, and clip his ambitions.
"Stay well clear" I tell them,
Do not spoil the Essence,
Allow him to live on,
Forever in our presence,
As the King of Hearts,
And of perpetual laughs,
Mrs Patterson's only son,
And my good friend, King John.
