To Most a Good Night

'Twas the night before domsday and all through city hall,

the trench rats were squealing, anticipating the fall.

Wanted posters were hung in the minds of a few

and they'll make the New Year one hell of a do.

The calm of the season deceiving to most

would give way to havoc for the terrible host.

The knuckleheads and shifters were snug in their beds

while delusions of adequacy danced through their heads.

The moonlight glistened on Lurch's sconce bright

but the butcher he was troubled this dark and gloomy night.

The lawyers were lined up all ready to collect

while the lawmakers whistled on this night to reflect.

When out on the street arose such a fuss

the butcher prepared to be thrown under the buss.

When all the trouble started is difficult to tell

and the judge simply stated "get into that cell."

As corks popped and the grunts sang Auld Lang Syne

the butcher of Wentzville walked that green mile line.

You may wonder if there's an end to this morbid-incorrect verse

the finale will come as the butcher flees in his political hearse.

As the wagon drove into the dark well of the night

you could hear him yelling with fist clenched bars tight,

GO TO HELL!

But to most a good night.