the robber walked into the bank
a note for cash to trade
a dress, procured, of lavender
in hopes of masquerade
the wig he wore upon his head
a lively shade of puce
a scarf of plum, though cumbersome
trailed downward, free and loose
the shoes he wore upon his feet
a mulberry delight
for stunning touch, his little clutch
was periwinkle, bright
he gave the gal the stick-up note
he said, "i have a gun"
the cash she nursed inside his purse
and then he turned to run
the scarf he wore was much too long
it tangled in his heels
the banking staff began to laugh
their mirth rang out in peals
he hit the floor and banged his head
how lilac was his bruise
and later on, quite woebegone
he had to pay his dues
he's in the penitentiary
that's where he spends his time
he waits and rehabilitates
and rues his violet crime
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