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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."