There’s a triple-word-score on the board set between us,
And I know the space will just serve to defeat us.
‘Cause you set down your tiles, aglow, full of pride,
Then I throw out a word that beats yours by a landslide!
In Clue you’ve no clue, you demand the revolver,
I take secret passages, ever so clever,
By the time you begin to suspect Colonel Mustard,
I’ve found out Boddy’s killer, cuffed and printed the bastard!
And you loved it to death when you first saw my brains,
But you’d quickly resent just how much I contain.
I’m better than you at the games that you love,
You’re a chute, I’m a ladder, ten spaces above!
And we’re just like a Jenga; our tower’s in ruins,
But it’s you pulled the last brick, so why should I rue it?
Was it when I blew up your last battleship,
Or when finally I captured your carefully-placed bishop?
I’m sorry to say you’re a poor strategist.
It’s evident from your Scattergories list.
I score higher than you in Parker Brothers’ eyes,
So how’d I come away with the consolation prize?
Now alone with a Ouija, I’m searching for messages.
Ghosts tell me you’re happy; I’m left with the vestiges.
In our game of Life, you inexplicably rate:
Though I got all the tiles, you got Millionaire Estates.