Cook Poem by Cicely Fox Smith

Slushy's a Dutchman, he's a crackerjack at music,
He can play the ocarina,
And the German concertina,
But the sort of grub he dishes out 'ud make a kangaroo sick.

He's greasy and he's lazy and he's frowsy and he's fat,
His face is large and dirty and his feet are large and flat,
And he knows no more of cooking than the steward's ginger cat.

His duff is tough as leather and his bread 'ud break your jaw;
His hash is burnt to cinders - is meant for tea because it's warm and wet,
And the taste of Slushy's coffee is a thing you won't forget.

If you want to know the secret of its extra special savour,
He drops a dozen beetles in to give the stuff a flavour.