British Restaurant
by RWN
Inside the British Restaurant
The Civic Leaders sit
With ration books beside them, and
With knife and fork in "mitt,"
When from the kitchen doorway spreads
Across the ambient air
An appetising smell of "Roast";
"Ah Bisto" says the Mayor.
And soon the Councillors have set
Upon their Yorkshire Pud;
Two GREENS, potatoes, cut from joint,
They seem to find it good,
But all at once one civic bloke
Gives forth a hollow groan,
"Say, waitress, just look at my meat,
My portion's ALL-A-BONE.
"Ah WEALE, we musn't grumble" says
His neighbour, "For it's true
Communal meals are wonderful,
And small ex-SPENCE SIR, too.
But look at Bloggs, he's moaning now,
He never can agree,
And all that fuss because he finds
No SUGAR'S in his tea."
Just then a mellow voice enquires
"Ma meat's maist fat Ah fear.
"Ah wudna fash ye, lass, but dae
Ye Mac-LEAN porrrtions here?"
One diner finds the feast too large
(The course he cannot run)
The Council Father beams and says
"I see you're BEATEN SON."
Still WARING his regalia
Up springs the worthy Mayor,
"I feel quite certain, Gentlemen,
My sanguine view you'll share.
For our first British Restaurant
Has soothed my doubts and fears
That meal was best and cheapest that
I SAW-FOR-Donkey's years."
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