John's wife whispered "Next Tuesday, Tid,
Together we'll make music, kid.*
'Cos John's working late,
Won't be home until eight,
You can have me for just 50 quid."

Late, nexTuesday night, John came home.
"Hi honey, are you all alone?"
When "Yes" she did say,
"Has Tid come this way?"
Asked John, and she smothered a groan.

"Well, yes, he came by for a while,"
She said with an innocent smile.
"And then did he pay
You cash?" John did say,
With never an inkling of guile.

She thought, as she stood there askance,
"He knows Tid's been inside my pants.
Then John did intone:
"Good, I made him a loan,
And he said he'd repay the advance."



*Kid?  It's called poetic licence.

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Last updated: Sun, 18 Mar 2001.