You open up the door in your hotel
And put your suitcase down, and case the joint.
There's nothing there to which you might well point
As being amiss - in fact you think it's swell.
The bathroom's fine - it's clean, the lights all work -
The bed feels comfy, TV porn comes free
(And better still, you can't get t'BBC),
And on the table coffee sachets lurk.
But then you open up your bedside drawer
And shudder as you read the book which goes:
"The Bible (Gideon's - AKA George O's).
I'll cut and slash you till your arse is sore,
Especially if you're poor, but you, King Croesus,
I'll let you into heaven before Lord Jesus."