Tune? tune?

The Bacon Butty
(written by Fred McCormick)

When sorry winds it's weary cause
And all of life seems blighted,
When misery turns out in force
And troubles stand united,
When sordid truths, needs must, unfold
And life seems cheap and smutty,
One crumb of comfort dear I hold,
It's called the bacon butty.

In Soho there are strange females,
Who, for a monarchs ransom,
Would hang you by your fingernails
And flog you something handsome.
With rich rewards to power their whips
'Til flesh be bruised and bloody.
But such delights are quite eclipsed
By the humble bacon butty.

Our police and narcotics squads
Are vigilant as eagles.
Their highly trained Alsatian dogs
See substances illegal.
I'll sing their praises to the sky
While in the form of duty,
But woe be to the dogs who tries
To seize my bacon butty.

And to the ones who daily toil
In sandwich bar and kitchen
To serve in cellophane and foil
Our modest lives enriching.
Well washed and free from gangarine
I bless the tender hand which
Spreads thick, and fast, the margarine,
Upon the bacon sandwich.

In Eden's groves safe and secure,
Adam and Eve were lying.
When beyond the gates they both were lured
By the smell of bacon frying.
Such foolishness condemned mankind
To lives of tortured anguish.
But in Paradise you'll never find
A tasty bacon sandwich.

What though cholesterols clammy grasp
Your arteries may thicken,
And like the viper or the asp
Cause you to waste and sicken.
Your tombstone will proclaim with pride
He's dead and buried, but he
Was once alive and satisfied
By the noble bacon butty.

To propagate the fraternal seed
You will not hear me quibble
If every colour, race and creed
Would share with me a nibble.
In Cantonese or Mandarin,Or any chosen language,
Come fill your glasses to the brim
And toast the bacon sandwich.