Generosity Is A Funny Thing

I was sitting in the train one sunny afternoon When a tramp, a beggar, got on board. He was such a sad, pathetic sight That my generous heart went out to him Even as he began his sad little recitation: “Sorry to disturb you nice people On this lovely summer’s afternoon, Believe me I wouldn’t do this unless I had to, If I had any other choice, but I’m trying hard To get enough money to pay for a bed And dinner this evening, so I don’t have To sleep on the streets yet another night, So any spare change would be appreciated, No matter how small, every little helps.” Then he hobbled tremblingly along the aisle And we could see he was a semi-cripple With sore-covered arms and a pronounced tic, Hand held out more in hope than serious expectation, As travellers averted their eyes from his plight. But I, the lovely Edna, dug ever so deep Into my Gucci handbag and fished out a note And, with a kindly flourish, gave him it. The beggar gawped: it was a fifty And tears rolled down his grimy cheeks As he mumbled thanks in pathetic gratitude. The pompous fat-arse next to me spoke: “You must have more money than sense, Madam, To give fifty pounds to that filthy wastrel!” And I responded with a smile, “Shut your gob, you cunt, It was a forgery, do you think I’m as stupid as you look?” And how the carriage rocked in mirth at my witty prank.