Please start without me, I'm on leave
And I've something that's hid up my sleeve
Is this a dagger?
Or far Wagga-Wagga
It's neither [or so I believe]
Left over from last New Year's Eve?

Please start without me, I'm on leave
And I've something that's hid up my sleeve
Is this a dagger?
Or an old Eton fagger
If so, then I must be naïve
Applying some fresh Ibuleve®?

Please start without me, I'm on leave
And I've something that's hid up my sleeve
I'll produce it when
I'm a master of Zen
And then, only then will retrieve
A state which is hard to achieve.

Please start without me, I'm on leave
And I've something that's hid up my sleeve
I'll produce it when
The time's right, and then
My state of mind you will perceive
You'll see why my name isn't Steve

Please start without me, I'm on leave
There's no chance of a sudden reprieve
I'm doomed to remain
On this long-delayed plane
Feeling sick with a strong urge to heave
With a cousin of Christopher Reeve

Please start without me, I'm on leave
There's no chance of a sudden reprieve
I'm doomed to remain
On a far darkling plain
With only this basket to weave
With piles of old timber to cleave.

Please start without me, I'm on leave
There's no chance of a sudden reprieve
For fourty-eight hours
I must grade all these flours
Amongst those who pillage and thieve
After which, a sponge cake I'll receive

Please start without me, I'm on leave
There's no chance of a sudden reprieve
For fourty-eight hours
I shall drink whiskey sours
It's by far the best way I can grieve.
At this rate I'll never conceive

There once was a Lim'rick for sale
Which came with a free pint of ale
And a packet of nuts
With a taste of goat butts
No kidding - just try and inhale!
And seventeen newly plucked quail

There once was a Lim'rick for sale
Which came with a free pint of ale
And a packet of nuts
And some choice sirloin cuts
Just right for the discerning male
A feast of gargantuan scale!

There once was a Lim'rick for sale
Which came with a free pint of ale
It was Ruddles' best
Called Old Everquest
So called 'coz it's beer's holy grail
Available only by mail

There once was a Lim'rick for sale
Which came with a free pint of ale
It was Ruddles' best
And stank of birds' nests
When newly blown down in a gale
But tasted of rancid ox tail

There once was a Lim'rick for sale
Which was rather too old and too stale
The old man from Dover
Who smuggled it over
Went straight to her majesty's jail
Dropped dead from a surfeit of kale

There once was a Lim'rick for sale
Which was rather too old and too stale
The old man from Dover
Said "I'm glad it's over"
"The new version I'll now unveil"
"The rhyme pattern WAS rather frail."

There once was a Lim'rick for sale
Which was rather too old and too stale
Fresh blood was required
To make it inspired
It's now reading Language at Yale
To be a nonsensical tale

There once was a Lim'rick for sale
Which was rather too old and too stale
Fresh blood was required
To set it on fire
And fresh words for comic detail
And give it that sting in the tail

*phew*