Your idea may well be defective,
About what’s involved in being a detective.
Especially about the “private eye”,
Who still has to wear a suit and tie,
But has to work entirely alone,
His only support, his telephone.
In his shabby office he sits and sits,
Awaiting customers with lawsuits and writs,
Usually with a glass window door,
With just name and title, nothing more.
Smoking a fag in the dismal light,
Ready to pick up on someone’s fight.
Ebenezer Stoneford was such a man,
Eking out a living in economy plan,
Until one wonderful, fabulous day,
A worthwhile case came his way.
Philly McPherson said “I have a complaint”,
“It is what it is, and it ain’t what it ain’t”.
“A thug from the Bronx has made a strong threat”,
“He is as nasty as most thugs can get”,
“I have the resources to handsomely pay you”,
“A hundred dollars a day plus expenses too”,
“All I want is the thug to be told”,
“He’s stupid and ugly and too blooming old!”
“The only other thing I think you should know”,
“Is that with his fists and gun he’s not slow”.
“And did I mention his wicked flick knife”,
“That’s something else that could cause you strife”.
“The thugs name is Cecil Bell”,
“The Police know him awfully well”.
“Now do you have a funeral plan?”
“You might need one with this nasty man”.
She lit a cigarette in a long, long holder.
And Stoneford confessed he didn’t feel any bolder.
But nevertheless he packed his trusty rod,
And on his tired feet he wearily trod,
Down the five flights of stairs to the street,
To go find this thug he’d sooner not meet.
He caught the Tube to the west side of town,
Determined to meet this thuggish clown.
To a pre-advised Speak Easy he did arrive,
Hoping that this meeting he would survive.
He rang the bell and the bouncer said, “What!”
Said he, “I need to see Cecil the clot”.
The bouncer then opened the door,
And into the smokey interior he saw.
Goons with shoulder holster guns,
Were at the bar in twos, threes and ones.
He spoke up loudly, not without fear,
“Is Cecil the thug anywhere near?”
An older person observed him in a sly fashion,
And then addressed him with passion,
“Who wants to know?”
He felt ready to go!
“I represent Philly and she has taken out a writ”,
“To stop you bothering her you stupid twit”.
Cecil seemed inclined to return to his seat,
He looked deflated and really quite beat.
“Philly was my goil I was so sure”,
“And now you say she does me abhor”.
“I wonder now if I do amend my ways”,
“And agree to do most anything she says”
“Whether she’d kindly consider again”,
“That I might be among the eligible men?”
That is the tale of the Private Detective,
Who boldly pursued a case so selective.