There's fish and chips on the table
It's lovely and all piping hot
Sauce and vinegar was in bottles
Salt and pepper each in its pot.
Now it's laid out on the table
Driving me more and more to despair
It's in individual little sachets
And some of them won't tear.
My fish and chips lie uneaten
And they're rapidly losing heat
Without a splash of vinegar
Their taste just isn't complete.
Stuff just poured out of bottles
Didn't give me the despair
Of wrestling with plastic satchels
That just won't bloody tear
There's designers and designers
Each in a field of their own
And I'm sorry if I'm grumpy
And ever ready to have a moan
But there is this little saw
That's Quite frequently spoken
Just don't try and fix a thing
If the original ain't broken.
