This is the tale of Bluebell Bishop
Who kept a nice fried chip and fishop.
As well as her husband Bert who worked,
She'd also a small son Bill who irked.
Cos he made such an infernal noise
Whilst upstairs playing with his toys.
So much against their dearest wish,
He was brought downstairs amongst the fish.
He paired the kippers from those of odd size,
And he played marbles with the cods' eyes.
His mother cried "You've gone too far...
Take your water pistol out of the vin-e-gar."
But whilst mum and dad were busy cooking
They had no time to keep on looking
And so it was in all that clatter,
The boy fell in the pan of batter.
And though he kicked and booed and cried,
With hake and cod was nicely fried.
Then in the general rush and fuss
Was sold with chips as octopuss.
It was not until the shop had cleared,
They'd found their son had disappeared,
And though they sought him high and low,
And even down the overflow,
There was no trace of little Bill
Except the profit in the till.