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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=455098" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Full Breakfast</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=455098" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Fried bread, Lord, who's still not; been fed.<br>Not me a little voice said…<br>Who said that? A park duck! <br>Or some hard luck Indian fatherless kid.<br>Eggs and bacon, God, is there, no! <br>Red ketchup or bake beans, <br>Hey kid get-up off your soiled knees.<br>After collecting that plastic garbage <br>With an iron-hook in a cardboard box<br>Whilst your mothers out selling her body, <br>With some pox-up jocks<br>Hey can we have some grilled tomatoes, <br>And black pudding and mushrooms on the side.<br>I'll have a coffee over here! It's rainy outside.<br>Hey child - you'll soon be a bride! <br>A suitor for you, shouldn't be hard to find…? <br>Let's tip the waitress boys, she so looks suppressed<br>Depressed - but at least she's got a uniform<br>And a collection-fund and a counsel house <br>And at the weekend she's pissed and jocund.<br>Hell I could eat another pork sausage! <br>Latter we'll go to The Nags Head <br>And even later still play some cribbage<br>The wife at home she can wait at home alone.<br>I've got the waitress to phone.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Mark+Heathcote">Mark Heathcote</a></strong></div>

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