The man who f***** my wife is dead - poem.
The man who f***** my wife is dead.
At last the slime has changed to dung.
I happily know the burial date -
last week and where the t*** was flung.
So one day I can find the grave
And spit and p*** and s*** on him.
I only hope he suffered long
With searing agonising pain
Before he left this lovely world whose life he'd not deserved to gain.
The man who f***** my wife is dead
And I will sing.