There was once a butcher who went by the name <br />of Bill who displayed all his meat on the windowsill. <br />This was his way of showing his customers, what he had to sell; <br />yet he never realised it caused such an awful smell. <br />His shop was clean with sawdust on the floor and the butchers <br />block was scrubbed every day at four.. His display of meat, poultry <br />and offal gave all his customers a chance to waffal; <br />about all the flys that queued up in the street <br />just to breed on his contaminated meat. <br />He was known to brag about his shins of beef, <br />but some of his customers were known have false teeth. <br />Butcher Bill sold sausages that would thrill, and he also sold <br />chicken's that could kill. Minced meat and steak that would <br />make a good meat pie, <br />but who, cares about that 'they were all doomed to die. <br />Not only the butcher, the baker as well, no health and hygiene <br />who can tell <br />So come buy your meat at Butcher Bills, but before you do don't <br />forget to write out your wills. <br />Butcher Bill lived a long time ago, when life was hard and people <br />were slow, but in life today he still sells his meat, from a shop <br />window that advances on to the street. So don't be afraid <br />of your Butcher Bills meat because everything he serves <br />is a finger licking treat. <br />If your a vegetarian I suggest you forget about my verse, <br />because if you start to chew upon it, you may need a nurse<br /><br />sylvia spencer<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/butcher-bill/
