Much to his chagrin
He is in prison
It is not his Holiday-Inn
But his coffin
Laugh at his treason
Apples are never in season
I have a habit of teasing
the evil that is never ceasing
And does he have reasoning
or excuses to give him leasing
His treachery is not eye-pleasing
And he is never tired of seizing
There is a plan for this devious Man
who always lusts for what God began
He thinks his connivance always can
But his downfall is his own hand