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At the local farmers' market
Incitement wasn't required
For a crowd of strapping farmers' wives
To start themselves a riot.
By every means available
Police rushed to the spot
And bravely - but ill advisedly -
Tried to pull the women apart
It's a truth universally acknowledged
Wherever people fight
That to give the rozzers a kicking
Is only fair and right;
The women, enraged and furious,
Turned their wrath on the boys in blue
Onlookers started applauding
As helmets and handbags flew
I was lurking in my attic
I had panoramic views
Of the wretched local coppers
Being slaughtered by the shrews.
I waved my arms "Hip hip hooray"!
The casualties mounted up
And looters nicked their handcuffs
And chained the buggers up
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One sunk her frenzied nails
Into the groin of an old p.c.
Shouting 'Death to the pigs!
Down with the law! Up with anarchy!'
Then - unpleasantly and uncalled for -
She took his head - and in a trice
It was jammed between her buttocks
Which she squeezed like a vice
Then the grossest of these women
Ripped her bodice wide
And with bludgeoning blows of her bosoms
Batted the bobbies aside
"'Inspector Morse' was never like this"
They said at the scene of the crime
But all agreed that the hecatomb
Was the greatest of all time
When they finally reckoned the coppers
Were sufficiently beaten about
Those furies had the audacity
To go back to their Brussels Sprouts
These victors crudely taunted
The plods where they were sat:
"If you want to show a girl a good time
You'll have to do better than that"!
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