Old Jim

I know of many decent folk,
In fact, they’re ten a penny.
Then there’s Jim, a jolly bloke,
And he’s as good as any.

A proper gent, he’ll never spit,
With a lady on his arm;
Unless, of course, she’s used to it,
Why, then he sees no harm.

He’ll offer you his final fag -
It’s kept behind his ear.
It’s getting rather manky now,
It’s been there for a year.

He’s a strict regime for keeping clean
In a bath that’s steaming hot.
He has one every New Year’s Day,
If he feels the need, or not.

And every month he’ll change his socks,
And usually change his shirt.
(He’ll wear his pants for longer,
For they don’t show the dirt.)

He never touches alcohol:
Before his morning cuppa,
To which he likes to add some gin
Left over from his supper.

Old Jims are now in short supply;
In fact, they’re getting fewer.
But decent folk need some around,
Like roses need manure.