Cloudy swill burning a hole in my stomcach
From too many pints and laxative cigarettes
I need bulk to kevel my insides
As I sigh upon realizing they've run out of pork pies
What crisps have you got?
I drunkenly enquire
As my buts groan
Like a death metal choir
There's deep fried cajun squirrel
Flame grilled possum with ginger spice
I'd be happy with ready salted
Rather than Dorset cream and fusions of rice
What happened to salt and vinegar?
These new concoctions blag me head
Is it too much to ask for a bag of space raiders instead?
Culinary fusions for three quid a bag
When all I want is a little snack
Nothing fancy, nothing debonair
Twenty percent crisp/ eighty percent air
Peaking duck with hoisin sauce is too much for me
I want something simple but I'm accused of been too fussy
Sautered donkey and deli sensations
Make me feel sick
As i consider popping to the offy
For some frazzles or chipsticks
These new fangled delicacies
Can't appetize my needs
I'm a simple man with wimple taste
Can I just have a bag of space raiders please?