What was it, father, what was it you said?
"When you're older I'm hoping you'll paint the town red."
No-one knew for a dead cert that he'd been the one
to start all the riots and burgundy 'fun'.
Marquis of Waterford to all his friends
All loyally knowing he was round the bend!
Upstanding and well dressed, a royal delight, with a
ruby raw tendency he would benight
He'd gather his cronies and gladly construct
partaking in mania, flout, then destruct
A reprobate, hooligan, inviting duels
living off red while he's nobody's fool
Out in long scarlet coats, silk stockings too
these red gutter-bullies awaiting for you!
Painting all doors and the low window frames
leaving their trade marks in streaky acclaim
Around Melton Mowbray in garish vermilion
charging exploits of placebo civilians
A spread and a spree, an offer to mauley
hands looking like silk leaves but stabbing like holly.
The Mad Marquis tainted by some other brush?
Reputed a title with turpentine crush
Could this man be elusive - a myth or a fact?
A fitting identity of Spring Heeled Jack
I guess under one colour, tainted the same,
we'll reach equal madness and shady disdain, but.....
What was it, father, what was it you said?
I wonder who was first to paint the town red?
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