Ron the Con could weave such a tale,
Like the time he went fishing and brought home a whale,
Now all us knew that this was lie,
Another fish story that we wouldn't buy.
But Ron could sell almost anything,
From pigs that could fly to cows that could sing.
He sold coal to the devil, and a sparrow a song,
He could sell you forgiveness when you had done no wrong.
Ron the Con was a master of words,
He once sold some maps to some migrating birds.
He could turn the day into night, and the night into day,
By using your words in some other way.
Ron, Ron, what can be said,
To keep you from selling new shoes to the dead.
My wallet is gone, my pockets are bare,
And left me here standing with but my underwear.
Ron, Ron, every promise you make,
Is just one more scheme for my money to take.
When will you learn that is best to be trusted,
Rather than sitting in jail because you were busted.
But Ron the Con could do no other,
He even sold plots to his grief-stricken mother.
So when it came time to meet his soul Maker,
He sold lots up in heaven to the undertaker.