CUSTER’S LAST STAND ©
Widow Twanky had won the lotteries,
and bought an old house so tall.
But she didn't like the decor,
wi' front entrance like a shopping mall.
She stripped every room and repainted,
and in the garden changed all the plants.
But the entrance hall of her dream house,
needed a new and complete enhance.
She contacted Slap Dab the painter,
who hummed and parried quite a bit.
Then she gasped as he suggested,
"The ruddy lot should be shoved down a pit"
Widow Twanky was weeping into her hanky,
and Slap Dab was filled wi' remorse.
he put his arm round the old dear,
and whispered "'Ah wus ony jokin' lass, o' course"
That evening she watched, "Custer's last stand"
portraying her hero Errol Fling.
that gave her an idea so startling,
that she stopped knitting and gave Slap Dab a ring.
"I would like you to paint me a mural," she warbled,
"covering all that back wall."
"And it's got to be as wide as the floor space
"and from the floor it’s got to be quiet tall."
Slap Dab was gob smacked for a minute,
then suddenly as he gathered his wits.
He accepted the challenge wi' alacrity,
and went home to collect all his bits.
Next morning he was there with his handcart,
and as he chocked one wheel wi’ a brick.
Widow Twanky put the kettle on,
then she chose from a book on murals real slick.
“Custer’s last stand”, was American History,
and it grabbed Widow Twanky’s yen.
To have a house that she could be proud of
and not be cooped up like a pig in a pen.
Slap Dab then worked like a coolie,
moulding, hammering, and painting till dark.
Widow Twanky was not even allowed a quick shufty
so she took her knitting an’ books to the park.
Then came the day for unveiling,
and as the shrouds were removed from the walls.
The town people who had been invited,
were moved to wiping eyes and making phone calls
Soon a big crowd had gathered outside,
and most wanted to see what was what.
Then on the posh front veranda Widow Twanky appeared,
and put a gold key in the slot.
Everyone gasped as they entered,
as mural leaped out at them from’t wall.
An Indian with a foot long tomahawk raised,
screaming a blood thirsty call.
There were Indians scalping white men,
while removing breech cloth wi’ same knife.
And women being chased by Redskins,
who were hoping to claim a new wife.
An old bloke remarked, ”It was almost life like!
and everyone is entitled to their own opinions.
But if it were mine ah’d scrub, “Custer’s last stand”,
an’ just call it “Nutt’n’ but f ****n’ Indians”.