Sausages, sausages, sausages,
An ongoing string,
Attached by a swirl and twirl,
Now there’s a thing,
One runs into the another,
How many do you want,
For that depends, we have
Long ones and short ones,
And fat ones and thin,
Where do you want me to begin?
We have Portuguese and Greek,
British, South African and German
I offered the last string
To someone unique,
Who wanted a tweak,
Asked if they were fresh and real,
She actually had a feel!
The German ones are spicy,
And the Portuguese pricey,
How much to you want to pay
Me today?
Edith replied, I have to say,
The decorative way
You hang your sausages
And mozzarella balls,
Make me giggle,
They must tickle
Your customer’s fancy,
What do you say Clancey?
Sausages remind me of days
In every year, three hundred
And sixty-five to be exact,
So comfortably compact,
One joined to the other,
Each one offering spice, color,
Taste and adventure,
They come and they go,
For everyone’s good cheer,
Which must be had every
Day of each year,
Life is but a dream,
Over in the wink of an eye,
Now Clancey,
With which sausage are you going
To tantalize me with, my dear?
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