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I look upon my garden all surly down and low
a withered case of barmy to preen an even row
I swelter likely not to bust within this sordid mess
I grieve the empty ground I walk for beloved dear old Tess
A friend, a pal, a wife, a mate, she brought me smiles of joy
she ran off with the rubbishman, a broken little boy
Within the grownd there rose a sownd
that scared me half to hell
I tried to run and hide meself
to escape its evil smell
Yelping, coughing, taunting
all surly down and low
it was a thought that dragged me down
and ran off with my soul
"Filfy piece of vermin!"
he yelling back at me
"yur not fit fer paper print
or buttered scones or ghee"
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A withered case of barmy
he screams from deep below
the boisterous little thought form
that ran off with my soul
I swing upon his tiny head with trusty garden hoe
he shook his fist and blew a kiss, my rage began to grow
His work was nearly over
so mad I could not see
the boisterous little thought form had got the best of me
The pain had reached a fevered pitch
and caused me grief and sorrow
I had to find an answer
or I'd never see tomorrow
I reached a resolution
I finally would be free
I had a stroke of Jesus
and let the bastard be
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