Poetry time again. To explain this one: a few years ago, I found out that the house I used to live in had been sold to a local biker gang. They were now using my old house as a biker club headquarters. Which lead me to write this poem.

My Old House

There's a biker in my bedroom,
And a pimp moved in downstairs.
There's a hooker in my basement
I think that's kinda rare!

There's a crack fiend in my bathroom
And a mugger in the tub.
And the wino in the kitchen
Just opened up a pub.

There's a junkie on the front porch
And a pusher by the sink.
And the flasher on my chesterfield
Just showed me something pink.

It sure is fun to visit with
The new friends I have made.
And it will be safe to go downstairs
Once protection has been paid.

There's only one real problem
And it really is a chore.
We keep on getting beat up
By the cops who live next door.