The Icing On The Cake
It was Christmas Eve in the kitchen,
Everything prepared, everything nice.
The turkey was stuffed and the veggies peeled,
So there was only the cake left to ice.
But I’d left it to the last minute,
And there wasn’t time to nip to the shop.
It was easy enough to make icing,
But nothing to decorate the top.
So my husband went out to his shed,
To see what he might be able to find,
And came back with a jar of ball-bearings,
Saying: “who’s to know? Nobody will mind.”
So I washed them and polished them bright,
Though it was all a bit of a fiddle,
And I placed them right round the edges,
With a sprig of holly in the middle.
Well, it looked proper champion,
With the large silver balls catching the light.
When my mother-in-law came the next day,
She’d be bound to admire the sight.
Well, Christmas Day came, and lovely it was,
We had our dinner, and a good drink,
Then mother-in-law eyed up the cake,
And said: “I’ll have a piece of that I think”.
So we both looked, and smothered a smile,
And with a knife I cut her a large slice.
She ate it up quickly and smacked her lips,
Saying: “that was really quite nice!”
“I’ll have another piece if you please!”
And that disappeared as fast as the first,
And then we all had a few more drinks,
As we’d all developed a thirst.
At this stage we were all stuffed to the gills.
The fire in the grate had burned down quite low,
So mother-in-law picked up the poker,
To stir it around and build up a glow.
Now we’d been eating and drinking all day:
Stuffing, and sprouts, and peas that were tinned,
And what with the turkey and the beer,
Well, it were bound to give the girl wind.
As she leaned and bent herself forward,
And, bearing in mind that she were quite fat,
She farted out bearings with incredible force,
And loudly assassinated the cat.
No comments:
Post a Comment