to which my attention has just been drawn by a friend.
He could not care a tit for wit,
He could not care a tat too,
But if you told him this was it
Then he would tell you that too.
A bit of ink to tint the skin,
A Red Sea and a blue one,
To tell the tale of one man's sin,
The old one not the new one.
That was the end of it I think,
Or so my text book taught it,
A pin prick and a bit of ink,
And as it taught, I thought it.