Greasy Nicks

I want a real hamburger- you know the real deal Not the mass produced rubbish with a taste that’s real I want to go to an old style fish and chippery And watch a Greek bloke standing cooking it for me I can hear the home made burger sizzling away With onions cooking as the smell stays And you would bite into it holding the white paper bag As the juices would flow down your chin making you so glad Maybe there’s still a Greasy Nicks somewhere around That still nurtures the flavours you remember so profound And we can stand with the Friday night crowd Whilst Nick creates perfection standing so proud. © Paul Warren Poetry