Revolving Brand - a limerick

Dressed up like he don't have no pension,
yet he craves your cash and attention,
with his random attacks,
on avoiders of tax,
like a house that he might fail to mention.

Robbed of a Talent

To drink he drove at steady speed,
where lived and died his dad and mum.
He got there soon and set up home,
his down and fall had now begun.

He made his house, his room, his bed,
picked up a glass and put pen down.
Chin up, gin down and down he fell,
his head a-swim, began to drown.

No script, no book, no film, no fame,
his zest, his joy, that clever head.
Like him all wasted, squandered, lost,
pissed down the drain now he is dead.

I wrote a list of tales and joy,
to read when came his wedding day.
I spoke but girls and men did cry,
as in the box my friend he lay.

Wrecked All, a limerick.

I've a cream that should be employed,
every time my bowels have been void,
but it once failed to ease,
when I had a big sneeze,
'cause I burst a large haemorrhoid.