Not Quite Breakfast At Tiffany’s…

Don’t need my ‘full English’ served

On a giant rectangular slab

Don’t need a dressed salad garnish

With my bacon, sausage and egg

Don’t need vine-on cherry tomatoes

Give me canned ones in juice instead

And though I’ve scoured this ridiculous slab

Can I fook find a slice of fried bread?!

And where is my builder’s tea?

English breakfast or Earl Grey’s the choice

But cutlery won’t stand up in either

I want Tetley’s, nowt else will suffice

Oh, what has happened

To the greasy spoon?

This ‘N8 Brunch’

Is loony tunes

10 of my squid

For two brittle half rashers

That crumble to dust

When faced with my gnashers

One measly egg

Yet a goblet of beans

Presented as if made

Of priceless things

Resplendent on said slab

In a vessel all of their own

Yet still I detest these things

And deign to leave them alone

And every cuppa you have

Costs an additional fee

No bottomless beverages here

No meal deal where your tipple is free

This wasn’t always the case

But gentrification is setting in

Prices soar, pretension is rife

Poshification of everything

I love London toon

Particularly Crouch End

But I’m northern at heart

And it drives me round the bend

When I’m being ripped off

Taken for a ride

Fleeced and shafted

Hung out and dried

If I pop down the road

To N22

A tenner will buy

Double the amount of food

Might not look as pretty

Might not be as ‘posh’

But at least it’s value for money

Not like detonating your dosh

Middey’s by name

Midget by nature

The tiniest of fry ups

Leaves me cold by temperature

A sprinkling of rocket

Is an utter abomination

On a British institution

I can’t afford at this rate of inflation

So b***ocks to the balsamic

You sprinkled on those leaves

That didn’t belong there in the first place

Desist in future, please!

Dispense with the vegetation

The slab that should be a plate

And reinstate the greasy spoon

In my beautiful N8.

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