The Trout

When I was working,

One day in the shop,

A man did come in,

And asked for some socks,

‘I’m sorry’, I said,

‘But we don’t sell them here’

‘Well what about ciggies',

And lighting up gear’?

‘Cigarettes and lighters,

Right here on this shelf’,

He said, ’Ta Da lovey’

‘And thanks for your help’,

‘No worries’, I cried,

‘And do come again’,

And so then he did,

The next very weekend.

So he came every week,

Throughout the whole year,

Well what can I say,

We’re such nice people here

Then one day he came,

In a fisherman’s suit,

When I asked why, he said,

‘I fish roundabout’

'How lovely' I sighed,

He asked, ‘Do you eat fish?’

‘Hell do I’ I remarked,

‘In about every dish’.

‘I tell you what’, he said,

‘I’ll bring you a trout’

I cried with excitement,

But inside had doubt,

A whole week then passed,

And he still hadn’t come,

Left there I was,

Wanting fish in me tum.

But then with my hope,

At a withering end,

A fish!

 Did down on the counter descend,

Never had I felt so much joy,

‘But be careful’, he warned,

‘This isn’t a toy’,

Nor was he joking,

This fish was a beast,

A monster this man,

Had fished out from the deep,

I thanked him again,

Then he left very fast,

I had a hell of a job,

As me' boss I sneaked past,

I hurled it in the freezer,

Right behind all the chips,

And hoped that me boss,

Wouldn’t see it and flip,

And then when it came,

To me time to go home,

Boy, did it feel,

Like this fish had grown,

No I just couldn't hide it,

This time from that man,

So I carried over my shoulder,

And ran,

Then I went home,

Through my usual route,

I showed It me mam’,

She said, ‘My what a brute’,

‘Freeze the boy up,

Then we’ll have him tomorrow’,

But then inside,

I began to feel sorrow

For this fish sure was,

A magnificent creature,

So we lined ourselves up,

And held him for a picture,

But the flash of the camera,

Must have woken the fish,

From its untimely smack on the head,

With a stick,

Cause then it flew in the air,

And bit my dogs tail,

Poor little man,

Let out hell of a wail

And as we wrestled it,

Down to the ground,

Me mum had in time,

Her best cleaver found,

And with no hesitation,

She lopped off its head,

And it all went quiet,

As the poor fish was dead,

So goodbye we say,

To that magnificent beast,

But hey, did it make,

One glorious feast,

Mum stuffed it with fennel,

And all sorts of herbs,

Then cooked it dead slow,

In that AGA or hers.

So thanks to the man,

Who bought us the fish,

What wonders he does,

With some line,

And a stick.