COME HOME, FATHER
by
Billy Bennett
(Almost a Gentleman)
Billy Bennett
Father, dear Father, come home with me now
The clock in the steeple strikes one
We’ve got dover soles, lemon soles, camisoles, too
And hot dogs with pullovers on.

We’ve jelly and custard, rissoles and mustard
And onions that put up a barrage
We’d toad in the hole, but the toad has crawled out
And we can’t get him back in the garage.

The tom cat’s gone out with the tabby next door
He was feeling a little bit skittish
And the poor old poll parrot keeps stroking his beak
And screaming, “My Gawd, is it British?”

The twins have been crying for Daddy all night
And Mother’s too tender to slap ‘em
So she gave them a bath, but one slipped down the plug
And he’s stuck in a drainpipe in Clapham.

The other poor darling keeps crying for milk
And the dairy sent news that upset us
Their cows have been feeding on tubs of ice-cream
And they’ve frozen up all carburretors.

Dear Father, your trousers are torn at the back
You’ve been down in the mud and you’re sticky
We know Baby Austins have no seat behind
But you can’t run about with no dicky.

You’ve only one button now left on your pants
And such things are not done in this nice land
For everyone knows if the last button goes
They’ll be a depression in Iceland.

So picture this scene and take warning
Oh Father, stand up perpendicular
And Mother beware, for sailors don’t care
And soldiers are not too particular.

Who made England today what she always has been
And still is _ the land of good cheer
Why, the father who brings home four pounds every week
One in silver and three quid in beer.

Oh, think of the fate of poor Nelson
In Trafalgar Square he’s looking solemn
He has only one eye, but he dare not look up
For the pigeons might park on his column.

Once our women had strong sturdy figures
Now they’re slim and slender as willows
They take antipon, their upholstery’s gone
What’s become of Waring and Gillows?

But Father, dear Father, come home with me now
They won’t give you any more gills
For Mother’s been trying to poison herself
With a box of Pink Pale People’s Pills.

We don’t need a torch in the blackout
For your boko is all of a glow
And Father, I know you’re my Daddy
For dear Mother told me it’s so. 
The end