ramblings and things

1,304,004 poems read

The Frying Game

Young Albert Andrews thought he would
Help his dad to peel the spuds
Switched on the machine just didn't linger
To check that he had moved his finger
The machines set off at a fair old zip
Caught one of his digits by the tip
Very soon had one arm to the elbow
Before it started to run slow
By the shoulder it had stuck
Abert's dad said what luck
If it had gone to yer head
You me lad would've been dead
And where the heck would I have been
Without me tatie peeling machine
All that week some said the cod
Tasted just that little bit odd
But Albert's dad there's nowt the matter
I just been using a different batter
And he made young Albert hide
When his clients were inside
It they knew about it at all
He thought his sales might just fall
He'd already had to buy smaller dishes
To disguise his smaller fishes
Global warming made life tough
And he thought that was enough
Life's very hard in the frying trade
With no more fortunes to be made

Comment On This Poem --- Vote for this poem
The Frying Game