Comeuppance to Astroturf
I always knew that I'd be back
These kids, they lack the Beefy knack
And flip their burgers unconcerned
That salmonella's still unburned
The trots? So what!
I always knew that I'd be blue
The orders short, they'd misconstrue
And stare dumbounded as I choke
In gathering clouds of acrid smoke
The snots? Bon mots!
We really need a chef who knows
A big mac burger from a rose
I always knew the pay was bad
A pittance for the grief we've had
Those pimply, smelly, teenage brats
With nasty English cricket bats
You're chaps? Here's slaps!
And now we end this ode to fry cooks
With rhyming couplet, as in Bards books
But not so fast! A stanza's lost!
Buried under snow and frost
And when it's found, will it be this?
The lines that sadly went amiss
Behold! They're cold!
Contributors: | Beefy, Kansas Sam, snoods, Anon., archaeopteryx, Francine, tonedeaf, asdf, scansion, Nym. |
Poem finished: | 22nd July 2003. |