If you open the door to Philosopher Jones
on a night when you're having a feast,
He will drink all your wine, gnaw your meat to the bones,
and then cry that you love him the least.
Keep your daughters away from Philosopher Jones,
for he hasn't the faintest of morals.
He prefers the stout lass who exceed seven stones
and will spend the night tracing her whorls.
Pray, do not give oy to Philosopher Jones,
for I fear that he isn't quite sane.
He waddles the hall in his nightshirt, and moans
that we're fighting King Donnie again.
Above all, don't vote for Philosopher Jones,
though he promises barrels of ale,
He conducts his campaign with such high moral tones
that you almost forget he's in jail.