Winter Thoughts
By: Roy Hare
Pickled
As I lay in the hospital bed
Someone said, "He's bleeding dead"
Cover him up with a sheet so white
We'll come back tomorrow, see if he's alright"
I opened my eyes and took a peep
There they were, a Surgeon and his sheep
Well they all wore, coats of white
Very interested in my plight
Next day dawned, they came to see
Looking intelligent as they examined me
Sucked air though teeth, ummed and aahed
One of them said "Let's mark his card"
This bloke won't last to the end of the day
Call next of kin, right away
The surgeon cried, "I've seen worse, than this man's state,
Well take a chance and operate."
On the table within the hour
Pruning me, just like a flower
Removing bits I might not need
Leaving the bits I have to feed
When at last, I was left alone
Just a lump of skin and bone
Most of my bits, the majority
Pickled in jars, in a laboratory
Now friends and relations have to pay
To come and see me on display
They pass remarks like "Oh Poor Soul,
But he looks much better in alcohol."
Christmas Night
It was Christmas night, in the farmyard
The animals hadn't been fed
The farmer turned out his pockets
And cried "I ain't got no bread"
There's nothing in my corn bins
The hay loft is full of dust
Finding feed for my helpless beasts
Has tuned into a 'Must'
The animals heard his wailing
Saw tears fall from his eyes
We shall have to do something
Before any of us dies
The chickens had a scratch about
Digging up some worms
But nobody else would eat them
Cos they might be full of germs
Cows and sheep went round the fields
Came back very jolly
How would all you starving mates
Enjoy a nice grass lolly
It was then the little donkey
Came trotting through the yard
He said Come on all you animals
We know that times are hard
We must put our best foot forward
Our shoulders to the wheel
One last push is needed
Our choice we have to steal
The animals set off, down the road
Seeking out some oats
I'm flippin cold said the little pig
We should've brought our coats
We all feel cold said the old brown cow
I'm blue from head to rump
My feet feel like blocks of ice
And my udders a frozen lump
Never Mind said the donkey
Keep going at a trot
I know where there's lots of grub
We shall nick the flippin lot
At last they came to the Squire's farm
Where the food was piled high
The animals gobbled up their fill
And the donkey gave a cry
Look out here come the Squire
He don't look very glad
In fact the way his ears are steaming
I think he's just a little mad
What are you thieving animals doing
Stealing my food, you swine
Take yourselves from off my land
For everything here is mine
The Squire's wife appeared, upon this very scene
Said "George, put down that gun, remember what time of year it is
There's food for everyone
The animals all gave three big cheers
For the Squires better half
Little Tiny Tim cried out
Merry Christmas, time to take a barf
Muscles
Biceps on the front of the arms
Triceps round the back
Graham gives us exercises
To take up all the slack
I've heard of the Achilles tendon
Quadriceps and the Patella
But with great big Pectoralis Magors
I'd look a funny fellah
We do all this exercise
To make our bodies stronger
My legs now have the screaming ab-dabs
I can't go on any longer
Our muscles all have Latin names
Makes me wonder what all the fuss
Those people who made up these funny words
Were talking out of their Gluteus Maximus
Keeping Fit
In the year , two thousand and four
I thought I should do a little more
To keep myself healthy and fighting fit
So I bought myself , some PT kit
An interview I had with Pat
Who told me how to reduce my fat?
Of exercise that I would need
To stop myself going to seed
Edge of the chair, sit up straight
Arms outstretched, that's right mate
Deep breath in, hold it there
Expand your lungs, with clean fresh air
Bring down the arms and exhale
You'll feel better, without fail
Heel taps, Toe taps to the music's beat
Now stand up, on your feet
On the chair put your hand
Or on the floor you might land
Step to the left, right arm high
Then to the right, Ouch you cry
Bend your back, make an arch
Left Right, Left Right, start to march
Swing those arms, straighten your back
Listen to those bones, starting to crack
Is there really, no end to this
But it's something, I would not miss.
Curly's Last Round Up
It was round up time on the prairie
The cowboys were eating dust
The trail boss, just kept shouting
It's Abiline, shit or bust
It's all right keep him shouting
Moaned Buffalo Bill Mead
Push those steers any harder, all they do is stampede
The other cow pokes agreed with him
But the trail boss pushed them harder
Keep them animals on the move
They're beef for the army's larder
So they pushed and shoved them cows
Over rocks and desert waste
The cows were getting a mite upset
They did not like this haste
Billy tried to calm them down
He crooned a song or two
The lead steer didn't like his voice
So it began to moo
This stirred up all the other cows And a walk became a trot
The trot became a gallop, at the
Sound of a single shot
The thunder of their pounding hooves
Made the ground, tremble and shake
Cowpokes, cattle and dust all mingled
Leaving devastation in their wake
The heaving mass crashed on for miles
Like an ever rolling wave
It came at last to a river
For some a watery grave
We only lost around fifty
Buffalo Bill informed the boss
Guess we were all fired lucky he replied
We didn't lose a hoss
Fraid we did and a cow poke too
The boys are bringing him in
Ain't much left of Curly Jones
Just some bones and skin
They buried that poor old cowboy
In the shade where it wasn't hot
Burnt 'Curly' on a piece of wood
Made a cross to mark the spot
Now out on that lonesome prairie
If you happen to pass that way
And come across old Curley's grave
Bow your head and pray
Pray you ain't a cowboy
Eating dust with your coffee and beans
Thank God, you're earning a living
By any other means
