The gates may be pearly but it’s way too early,
As I stand in the line to be booked.
My old back is stooping, my moustache is drooping,
In this heavy serge… I’ll be cooked.
My villa is spotless — no booze and no tchotchkes,
A pool in the forecourt with chairs;
I’ve scoured the place—for an ashtray — no trace;
The only real downside… the stairs.
The courgettes? Suspicious. The babas? Delicious!
The meat course seems to be touring.
The harps are relaxing, but the lyrics are taxing,
Such chanting, such beauty, so… boring.
“Pray give me a whore” — “ But what on earth for?
”Cried angels, white wings all converging;
“Because I am ancient and hardly feel patient,
When you promised the ‘Faithful’ their… virgins.”
Can’t you see that I sigh for one glimpse of thigh,
On chicken, turkey or Yentl,
I haven’t a halo and vice is a no-show
So why am I scheduled for dental?
I live for light skirting — where’s harm in the flirting?
A breeze, some ankle, no trouble.
A brief glimpse of potential, I’ll be penitential,
Unless all I see is… dark… stubble.
Oh give me some Mouton to down these dry croutons,
And for God’s sake pass me a cigar,
But where is the thrill when there’s no darn bill,
And much as I drag, there’s no tar,
Or bar. 
God dammit, I need a martini.
“Get me Jehovah!” “Oi, Marx! What behooves ya,
”Some old fella said with a grin.
I gestured effusive — “This club’s so exclusive —
How did I ever get in?”
“So where is the pleasure, the lux without measure,
The promise that sins are forgiv’n,”
“Oh Groucho, believer — you tortured a diva,
What makes you so sure this is…  heav’n?”

Encore

“Fate once cast is frozen — no matter what you’ve chosen,
Duck Soup can never be… unducked;
Teasing or sedition, confession or contrition —
Let’s face it, Marx — you’re… … most definitely in trouble.”