In a little old shack where the shadows creep,
Lived a mean old git who's lost his heap,
His jewels and nuts, once robust and proud,
Now tales of woe, shouted out loud.
With a scowl on his face, and a heart full of spite,
He'd curse at the moon on a cold, lonely night,
"You wretched old bastards, where'd my bollocks go?
I had 'em last week, now they’re nowhere to show!"
His roooskidoooski's, oh, they’ve done a vanishing act,
Once the source of his swagger, now they’re just a fact.
With every sharp word and a drink from the flask,
He'd reminisce fondly of the good times he'd bask.
“Back in my day, I was the king of the street!
With a wink and a nod, I’d sweep 'em off their feet,
But now I’m a shadow, a ghost of my past,
No more bravado, my manhood can’t last.”
He’d yell at the kids playing ball on the lane,
“Get off my damn lawn! You’re driving me insane!”
But deep down inside, in the pit of his soul,
Was a longing for laughter, a friendship to hold.
So here’s to the git, with his nuts on the shelf,
He may rage and he may cuss, but he’s all by himself.
If he’d just let some joy in, maybe life wouldn’t bite,
And he'd find his lost treasure in laughter and light.
So hoist a toast to the curmudgeon we know,
In his own bitter world, may he learn to let go.
For losing your jewels ain't the end of the tale,
With kindness and humor, you can still set sail.