The house that Jack built

Jack spied some land overgrown and squalid
On a road of rich houses high and solid.
‘Twas the garden of a cottage squat and horrid.
The house that Jack built.

To the elderly owner he did proffer
A few measly pounds to take the land off her.
Else someone would trip and sue, and try to rip off her.
The house that Jack built.
 
 

With a mighty bonfire he cleared the land
And embers onto the old cottage fanned.
Which then collapsed as though made of sand.
The house that Jack built.

Through foundation holes deep and round,
He heaved some concrete into the ground,
It flowed like lava with a glooping sound.
The house that Jack built.

Onto the base flat and true
He laid his bricks with mortar for glue
With load-bearing beams around a chimney flue.
The house that Jack built.

He added a roof made of slate,
A picket fence, and a garden gate.
He was now a true man of estate.
The house that Jack built.

Jack lived his tricky life without amends,
Spent all his money and, as it so often ends,
Found himself old and alone, without any friends
In the house that Jack built.

His garden grew wild while its value soared.
His chimney caved in and rain through slate poured.
Then there passed by a youth louche and bored
With an eye on the house that Jack built.

For a few measly pounds young Jack had the land
From a confused old man by whom none would stand.
He lit a bonfire and watched flames expand
Over the house that Jack built.
 

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