[John Whitworth]

I reckon horses are in.

My burger is made out of horse,
A shame and a scandal of course.
It tastes like minced shit
But I don't mind a bit
So long as they tell me the source.

My sausage is mostly dead dobbin,
Looking rather like something you'd gob in,
Plus it tastes like a turd,
But I don't say a word.
(It's a case of political jobbing.)

You know, this is fun. I once worked in a brewery in Edinburgh. Pissing in the beer was the least of it.

The beer in that boozer we kissed in
Tastes like something some bugger just pissed in,
And the pies are pure shite,
But what made it all right
Was the publican's face with my fist in