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