"But doctor," said I, really shaken.
"It's my back," and I tapped it, all smiles.
He tossed me the vial,
said, "It's only a trial,
so try not to drip on the tiles."
I stood in the loo, vial cocked ready.
My trousers way down at half-mast.
I strained and I tried.
Had no luck. So I cried,
"It's 'cause I am stood here bare-arsed!"
I dropped off the vial at reception,
Hid my smirk well under my hat.
Embarrassed, you see,
'cause it wasn't my pee.
I'd got it from next door's fat cat!
Paul the fancy baker
was tall and quietly droll.
He took great pride
he could provide,
just any type of roll.
Breadcake roll or crusty roll,
kummelweck or bin,
manchet roll or seeded roll,
'twas all the same to him.
One cold night, last summer,
Paul frowned and shook his head.
Said, "No, enough,
won't make this stuff.
I'm baking cake instead!"
"But darling!" said poor Ellie,
It's rolls they want, not cake.
Now get out there,
drop that éclair.
Bake rolls, for goodness sake!"
"No!" Cried Paul, so loudly,
he frightened his poor wife.
"I am changing roles -
not baking rolls,
for all my bloody life!"
Angel cake and carrot cake,
Battenberg and date,
Tunis cake and simnel cake,
