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