Felix relied upon his luck
Not smarts or grit, resolve or pluck.
He’d catch the city bus on time
And find ten dollars, five in dimes.
He’d dodge the landlord for the rent,
Outrun the shark he owed a cent.
His chosen horse would always win
And let him down his fill of gin.
He’d get a belly full of fries,
And day-old donuts and a pie.
But if he tried to get a job
His luck would every time then fob,
For when he went to earn his riches
He always would forget his britches.
fob: (archaic) to cheat, deceive
form: none
meter: iambic tetrameter
rhyme: couplets
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Adam Writes 