Pluto is a hard man; he sits around in spats,
and takes a cut from Charon, when the ferry hits the shore.
His proper name is Hades, but his henchmen call him ĎFatsí,
except the one he heard (that boy donít work here any more).
His moll is named Persephone. He picked her like a flower.
He made her quite an offer, one a dame would not refuse:
she has six months of holiday. He counts it by the hour;
the other six she pleasures him, itís what he calls his dues.
His fork is long, and has two prongs. Beware of bifurcation:
thatís what he tells the other hoods when organising raids.
And nowadays, he rarely stirs, but sits in contemplation,
lets demons scheme, but watches them behind designer shades.
He likes black sheep Ė as sacrifice. With Thanatos, his twin,
he plays a little blackjack, maybe lights a Greek cheroot.
Though you never leave his underworld, it will cost you to come in.
Donít speak unless youíre spoken to. And never touch his suit.