Come out of the toilet With your hands up And put down that bag of crisps Or it's curtains for you I loved you once But I just can't stand your politics Take me to your boudoir Your scented breath Has guaranteed my return Here, from my coffin As I open the lid Seeing the surprised faces of all my relatives And their disappointment That I shall still live to spend all of my money And, my grandchildren Shall inherit before my children Who I have disowned, one and all They say That this is merely Alzheimer's, the crankiness of age But little do they know It's a very calmly-planned, vindictive revenge