A Gentle Man

There once was a time for fine drink and fisticuffs

When a man of honour knew when enough was enough

Where he would pitch up to fight for a principle or moral

And take to the base the plight of a quarrel

Now we have our bandits, no higher than a child

Without education and with a past on a file

Who escape all justice, in all sense of the terms

Be it boldly or widely, they escape like worms

And questions we ask, and answers we get

And over short moments we are sure to forget

That when there was code respected by all

No one felt big but no one felt small

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