I know I'm just a peasant
Born in a Yorkshire hovel.
Maybe that's why I dislike
Breakfast served on a shovel.
When you're cold and hungry
Working on a building site
It doesn't matter how it's served
But in a restaurant it's not right.
I know I'm old fashioned,
Completely out of style,
But why the hell would I want
Tucker eaten off an old roof tile.
I really don't know
What on earth I'd do
If they served my pudding
In a lady's high heeled shoe.
Wooden boards and jam jars,
Again all things I hate,
For God's sake serve my food
On an old fashioned plate.
I can feel their contempt
When I ask for this courtesy
But I'm the one that's eating
And that's what pleases me.
Where it will all come to end
The good Lord only knows.
Celebrity Hash Slingers
Now dominate TV shows.
They primp and poke their food
So to it looks artistically nice
Fine dining they call it
And it's reflected in the price.
Give me meat and two veg
A drop of gravy to taste
And I'll lick me plate clean
With not a speck of waste.
I now ask how they serve
Before I even take my seat
And if they don't use plates
These days I vote with my feet.
I'm not a restaurant lover,
Like plain and simple fare.
I don't like being treated like
An idiot when I'm eating there.
You can stick your fine dining
Your hygienically suspect ways
I'm may be a Yorkshire peasant
But I'm the bugger that pays
