Roast Beef and Yorkie Puds
(Sundays)
Each street sounded of
Lawn mowers, laughter, bicycles and bells
The odd car being revved up
And oh my! The heavenly smells
Each towns aroma was roast beef
Gravy and yorkie puds
When hungry tummies with bated breaths
Sneaked to the shops for sweets and other forbidden goods
Latch dogs roamed free in packs or joined in with us kids
Depositing delights, creating awful smelly skids
Ken Dod and his Diddy men, duster in his hand
'isn't it a nice day!' as he skipped through Diddy land
'eat up all your Brussels now!'
What a ruddy shame
That dog hates them as much as me
Traitor! Should be his name
Sneak off down the brick fields for some fun a fight or swim
Come home filthy and lie
About 'where on earth you've been?'
Four in a bath to stew and wash each others backs
Waters at a shortage now, unlike the dreaded smacks
Off to bed cross Lino floor to reach the bottom bunk
Can't wait to grow up now
And be a rebellious punk
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