The Truth
About Lucey.


Look at that knife,
out on the street,

carnivore carcasse
dripping red meat.

Beside, a fair lady
she’s ever so neat,

Dressed for a ball
from top to her feet.

She’s Lucey and pretty
not there just to greet,

She’s a rustler at night
she does five every week.

On Saturday she sharpens
the knives by a creek,

On Sunday there’s mass
When after they're meek.

They talk of good Lucey
in a low kind of speak,

It is always their mystery
as to why she's so sleek.

Then home for the roast
the end of week treat,

But nobody knows from
who's lamb they eat!