Granddad were a grand chap
He wore a trilby
And a gabardine mac.
He worked int’ mill
And smoked a pipe
Rode to work and back
On his push bike.
Saturday night he’d get spruced up
And go down to his local
A few jars of ale consumed
He became very vocal.
Knees up mother brown
Roll out the barrel
I’ll take you home Kathleen
Or even a Christmas carol.
The landlord shouted time
The last song was sung
O Harold one more rhyme
Last orders! The bell’s been rung.
A night full of ale and prose
He couldn’t stand on his feet
Then, up he sprung to his toes
And muttered I’ll give them a treat.
“Last night I ate some cheese
Which this morning made me sneeze
The cat had a fit in the cellar
The dog had the same disease
The chairs began to walk
And the table did the same
And my grandmothers beautiful picture
Walked out of its beautiful frame.”
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Comments about this poem (Granddad by Hazel Connelly )
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