ramblings and things

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The World’s Best Suicide Bomber

Forty Seven missions to his name

But he hadn’t killed a single person

Just couldn’t have stood the shame.

Not totally convinced that

Ninety Virgins awaited

And non too sure about

Some other terms stated,


He’d just accept the mission

Then he’d take off his vest

In some secluded place

Which he thought was best,

And blow up a bit of property

Mostly delapidated stuff

First checking it was empty

‘cos he didn’t like playing rough.


They might all have promised him

A time of luxury up in Paradise

And he really did admit 

The thought of it was nice

But it really was just therory

And he had a lovely life

Back home in Croydon

With three bairns and his wife.


He also had a little niggle,

Couldn’t help wondering why

None of his Religious leaders

Were ever queuing up to die.

If Paradise was so rewarding

Why was there such a dearth

Of Mullahs and other Leaders

In the queue to leave this Earth.


On solid reflection he thought

That what he did was best,

Coming home alive after

Safely blowing up his vest.

And when he finally retired

From the Suicide Bomber game

He coud proudly boast of

Not a single death to his name.

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