Discomfit of Others

Ted is dead.
Don’t chew know he died in his sleep,
Drunk as a lord,
A nasty bastard, no one will weep.

I fir one feel no loss,
The slimy bum stole me money
There was a trick, he said we’d do.
Turned out I’m the trick, not very funny.

I’m sure the good father will offer a sermon,
But it best be short, with no time wasted,
Fir the flock will be dry, anxious to leave,
Begorra! by one they’ll want to be pasted.

Yep, Ted’s gone, he’ll near be missed
He’ll hold up no building, lie in no puddle,
No cursing from him, no screaming or shouting.
Ted was nothing, if not very subtle.

I think the crook would laugh at the end,
Watching fathers and mothers,
Looking sternly at his passing coffin.
Above all, he prized the discomfit of others.