A Ballad

absolute unadulterated genius - and with a serious mercedes-related moral.

    
There was a man from York,
and David was his name,
He was a wealthy businessman,
And gambling was his game.

He would bet upon the horses,
A flutter from time to time,
But his life began to crumble,
And slowly turned to crime.

He started with insurance scams,
To help repay the debt,
But he couldn't cure himself,
Of the need to bet.

He wangled himself a bank loan,
And paid the betting fees,
But the addiction would continue,
His incurable disease.

He had to sell his cars,
The Porsche and then the Honda,
And then he sold his exotic pets,
His fish, the anaconda.

    
Oh, David what is happening,
His wife began to sob,
I can't control my gambling -
so, we're left without a bob.

We're losing all our money,
Oh, Dave, what shall we do?
I'm only left with one solution,
I'll have to sell you too!

So he flew her to India,
and sold her on the market,
He bought back his mercedes,
but had nowhere to park it.

His house had been demolished,
To make way for a parking lot,
So he had nowhere to live,
His car was all he'd got.