Hey! You! Everyone! Listen!
It could be, yes, that somebody's pissing -
But my concern is greater tales;
Tragic events, flagons of ale;
Tortured words that cannot fail.
I
Salmon colored was the sky
When Rolf da Noft went out to try
Wrong righting for small fry.
His mighty stead of Harley line;
His boots and jacket of leather fine;
His purpose to justify all nine
Gallons in his tank
By capturing the robbers of the bank.
Tying them fast to handle bars
Only to deliver them to prison bars.
II
No word of caution would he brook
As he raced to catch this crook -
Whose family waited in get-away
With fire power and desire to pray.
At eighty-five Rolf's sight was clear -
With head unclouded by wine and beer.
Not so the crooks that fled by car -
Their lifestyle betrayed by fat cigar
Dipped in brandy in the back seat
Where fumes prepared the driver for defeat.
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