Every Tuesday Friday spied him,
Wriggling round on a triangular mound,
Let me teach you justice economics,
Shillings and pence,
You know it don't make no sense,
How can you sell me sky with no rain?
They're not of you however much you claim,
Please don't let the colour of my skin,
Flavour your culinary coq-au vin.
Vigour, vim and a perfect trim,
It made him one sunny gym,
I'd really like to be more than an arm's throw,
Away from Mr. Robinson Crusoe.
Friday's daily dose of opiates,
On my strict moral conscience it grates,
So way of punishment I sent him down,
To a bamboo prison in a bamboo town,
Friday's puzzled looking old,
He really can't tell what he's done wrong,
Look Mr. Crusoe,
Why punish yourself for an indulgence in bliss?
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