Now I'm Yorkshire peasant stock
I sup ale instead of drinking wine
And I tend to nosh my scranny
Not sit down proper and dine
There's a restaurant down our street
Not really for the likes of me
Attendants to park all cars
And it's a la carte you see;
But some times I we eat there,
For the odd special deals
Like two for one offer
Or discount on eaten meals.
One of the things I like there;
And I like it quite a lot
Is one of the restaurant staff
That I call Mr Pepper Pot.
He patrols the place.
He's never ever still,
And he carries in his hand
A huge wood pepper mill
As soon as the food is served
He pops up and he's there
Very quietly asking all
Some pepper, madam? sir?
And with a flick of the wrist
He's ground and served the stuff
Then standing back proudly
Asks has sir, madam got enough?
He knows I am just a peasant
One of those really born to serve
Knows I'd like to answer no
But I just don't have the nerve;
Off he flounces down the room,
Such a feeling of release.
And I know there's a chance
I can eat my meal in peace.
Oh I admire my Mr Pepperpot.
For his energy and charm.
And he rules that restaurant
With skill of wrist and arm.
Sometimes in my fantasies
Though I don't fantasise a lot
I dream I am in that restaurant;
The New Mr Pepper Pot.
‘cos I'm Yorkshire peasant stock
I sup ale instead of drinking wine
And I tend to nosh my scranny
Not sit down proper and dine
