~ The Ballad of Jimmy the Thrift ~

From God’s pocket came the babe
Who like all men none can save.
Work or steal it matters not
The grave is really all we’ve got.
And so young Jimmy lifted things
The doctor’s watch, the nurse’s wings.

From God’s pocket came the boy and
Stealing was his greatest joy-
A lollipop, a motorcar
A twinkle, twinkle little star.
He stole a wallet, then a gun
And in the banks had lots of fun.
Before he’s even 17
He’s got more loot than charity.

From God’s pocket came the man,
With deft and nimble, idle hands.
He could pick the pup from platypi
Or from a babe a lullaby
Or rosary from sleeping nun
Or from a copper belt and gun.

Then from God’s pocket fell his fine
The boy a man now doing time.
He was sentenced to hang by judge and crown
From the tree that fruits
All year round.
But before he pissed when he couldn’t whistle
He stole the reverend’s holy missal.

Now ferried away in the Boatman’s hertz
Whilst crossing the Styx he pinched his purse.
And before the Devil, the story goes
He stole the fellow’s horns and nose.

For from God’s pocket Jimmy fell,
Right through earth and into hell.
But Jimmy was a treasured soul
And Gods old pocket had a hole.
So the devil fashioned Him
A ring to keep His precious Jim.

And so now God has just one hand
That is for the devil to command
And with it we can often see
The work of young Jim’s legacy
That if death is really all we’re not-
Then take from life all it’s got.

Benjamin W Wild (c) 2011

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