He spent all his life
In marital strife,
And felt proud of the fact.  Yes he did!
He owned his dear wife.
Gave her a hell-of-a-life.
"She deserved it, and so did the kid."

He held his head high,
Let his words all imply,
He was sorry for you, "You poor sod."
He was king in his home,
His lounge chair a throne.
He made it that way ... He was God.

Women were slaves,
That way since the caves,
And children were nothing at all.
They were born to behave,
That’s all fathers crave.
"Kids should know they’re nothing but small."

"Wives or kids, they speak back?
Just give them a thwack.
They’ll soon cringe when you walk in a room.
You stay in control,
They’ll do what they’re told,
Or they’ll face what they know is their doom."

And you know he was right.
They never did fight,
But the poison they found in his blood,
Said one thing or two,
As these sorts of thing do,
‘bout the way his beliefs were a dud

The ones he controlled?
The pain made them bold.
Wife decided to do something quietly.
She stayed broken it seemed,
And all the while schemed,
Sprinkling poison on all his food lightly.

When he finally did die,
Mum let out a sigh,
She’d waited a life to do this.
She buried him deep,
Didn’t bother to weep,
This was her marital bliss.

And nobody knew,
As sometimes they do,
Why hubby had just up and left.
But wife and child were OK,
So they left it that way.
His loss left no one bereft.

It was only this year
They discovered his ear,
And the other bits that were scattered.
Wife died some way back,
No point giving her flack.
Nobody thought that it mattered.

So the message, it’s true,
Is aimed straight at you.
Never judge a bully a winner.
He may seem to be strong,
But that’s terribly wrong,
Life always pays back a sinner.