Greasemen of Britain
The smell from the burger van hits my nose
It makes me hungry, I'll buy one I s’pose
“Two pound fifty”, the greaseman says
How effin’ much! The price nowadays
For a fat and gristle patty
To make me a fatty
I hand him the money for the sweet smelling lard
It comes on a bread roll that’s bloody rock hard
Two pound fifty, the price nowadays!
“That's the price of convenience”, the greaseman says.
A bargain compared to the bourgeois burgers
Served with salsa, not sauce for the gullible splurgers
Hipsters not greasers
Well trimmed and tweasered
They rob with a smile, “it’s hundred percent Angus”
What the hell’s that mean, I'm hundred percent angryus
That I've fallen for his scam
Paid top dollar for my scram
The greaseman’s plain honesty
that his are **** quality
Gets my vote for his burgers
over up their **** hipsters
Watery ketchup and stale bread rolls
with slightly burnt onions, served by hairy old trolls
Greasemen of Britain, stand up, we salute you
Our nation is proud as we sit on the loo
As vigorous bowel movements let it all out
That's proper street food, that's what it's about
So please believe me, with all my experience
That this is the price you pay for convenience
Copyright © Rob Carter | Year Posted 2017
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