I’m not up to This Is It.

This ol’ bod’ of mine can’t take it.

Gettin’ harder jus’ to fake it.

People thought I was a wimp,

Way back when I owned that chimp.

Then called me a pedophile,

Even though that ain’t my style.

Fifty shows have now been set.

That should get me out of debt.

Jus’ thankful that I got this gig.

I even got a brand new wig.

So hit me up with Propofol.

Jus’ don’t forget your in control.

And maybe later if you can,

Add a little Ativan.

I really shouldn’t be alone,

While you step out to use your phone.

For surely there will come a hand,

That takes me off to Neverland.

for the silver screen

That wasn’t the action she sought.

She lay there alone

cut through the bone,

By a man that she knew, so she thought.

Her knees became weak

while he cut cheek to cheek.

She met death with on hell of a punch.

Still bound with clothes line

as he sliced through her spine,

Just before sitting down for his lunch.

Never came a report

of who did this to Short.

He went to his grave with this sin.

No suspect now sought

for the gal in the lot,

Cut in two with a hideous grin