(by Fred McCormick)

When sorrow winds its weary course 
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.

While through 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.

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