Lady Muck Poem by Mary Champion

She swans around in furs,
devoid of knickers.
Show her money and she purrs.
She preys on vicars.

She tries to talk all posh,
but drops her aitches,
so just offer her the dosh
and all the traces

of breeding disappear.
She's more than willing
to swing from chandeliers
if you are paying.

She's hard as nails it's true,
but can you blame her?
She's struggled her life through -
you'll never tame her.

She's had her share of knocks,
black eyes and bruises,
from blokes who get the pox
from hungry floozies.

Yet once, when she was small,
she dreamed of romance.
Thought she could have it all,
but had no finance.

She tried to earn a crust
from honest wages,
but the company went bust
and so, in stages,

she went through sev'ral years
of social falling.
Her rent was in arrears -
the bailiffs calling.

So she sold the only thing
that they were buying,
held her heartache locked within
to keep from dying.