My grandma had a special guest, br he had been told, 'young man, go West, ' br by folks who knew whereof they spoke, br they also liked this handsome bloke. br br They went to church where he confessed, br the Priest said 'son you shall be blessed', br but unbeknownst, quick like a rocket br he picked the Holy Father's pocket. br br And stayed behind to help claen up, br then pocketed a golden cup. br Also a case of Beaujolais. br Who would have guessed? What can I say? br br At grandma's house he helped himself br to trinkets from the loungeroom shelf. br He emptied then the cookie jar br and drank the brandy from her bar. br br The night was dark when he proceeded br to drink the wine his body needed. br The cyanide blew up his chest - br wrong label, damn, who could have guessed! br br My grandma heard the dying sounds, br which woke the chickens and the hounds. br And, being guilty, so she reckoned br she knew she mustn't waste a second. br br You see, she'd recognised how black br his soul must be. She did not lack br an attitude of laissez-faire, br she thought about it, would she dare? br br So, when the thieving, robbing feller br was resting, she went to the cellar. br She switched the labels on the wine, br with cyanide, straight from the mine. br br A Hessian bag of giant size br hid him from neighbours' prying eyes. br She dragged him to the Harvest shed br and dumped him where the sign said 'SHRED'. br br Went back inside her cosy nest, br dear God, my Lord, who would have guessed. br The village thought he'd gone away br and Grandma drank the Beaujolais.