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Cecil
by J. WILLIAMS (for a laugh)
| I once talked to a school sausage (Quite an easy matter you know) And he told me of the school kitchens And the things that happen below. His skin was sweating with horror At the terrible tale that he had At this tale of sickening terror ... Of CECIL, the prune who went mad."The moon shone full and mysterious Through the clouds with a fitful gleam And glanced off the scum on the pudding And the froth on the synthetic cream. The breeze whistled soft through the cobwebs Blowing dust on the food all around, But, save for the sobbing of Cecil, The rats made the only sound."Poor CECIL was crying and whining And pacing about in his tin, For all the syrup around him he saw, And knew what a stew he was in. He had once made friends with a damson, A jolly young fellow called Sam; But the last news he had of his old friend, He'd got into rather a jam."So he turned to his wife Arabella And said: 'Please don't get cut up, love; But I'm going to get out of this tin 'ere; So come up and give us a shove.' But his wife fell down on her wrinkles And tried to plead with her man: 'You can't leave your wife and your seedlings.' Said CESS to his spouse: 'Yes I can.'"Then his wife started shouting and wailing, And fair woke me up from my sleep. So I stuck my eye out of my jacket And wiggled it 'round for a peep."Then I looked and I looked and I looked once again, And got the shock of my life, For CECIL was frothing all over And going for his spouse with a knife. She was screaming and pleading and what not, Though I reckoned she screamed far too soon; 'Cos the knives here are blunt as they come, lad; The only sharp thing is a spoon."But CECIL was looking quite nasty; So I shouted for help from my mates, From Boris, the cabbage, and Ferdy, the Steak, And some rather unsavoury dates. So Boris crawled out on the table, On which, in that pale moonlight, The poor lad looked quite anaemic; Still he fair nearly ran to my plight."As for CECIL, he knew he was thwarted; At the cabbage and steak he did curse: He called t'steak a dash and an asterisk, And questioned his parents— and worse!"At this the poor steak got his hair off, As you and I would do, of course, And said in a voice, sort of posh-like, That his mum was a pedigree horse. "I was shaking from breadcrumbs to gristle From my bone to my cigarette end, When Boris who's quite intellectual Said 'Blimey, he's gone round the bend!'So we looked and we looked at the lad's thyroid gland. Cor strewth it was swollen all right; But CECIL all gibb'ring and frothing Dashed off in the depths of the night. "And so, as you lie in your bed, sir, And hear t'sound o't'baying to t'moon, Don't think it's a dog with its lover, But CECIL, the rampant prune." |