Lady Croup
by
Cyril Fletcher
This is the tale of Lady Croup 
Who dropped her tiara in the soup. 
Her butler, with impassive face 
Retrieved it with his usual grace. 
He dried it with a chunk of bread 
And popped it back upon her head. 
Although he acted with resource, 
He must have used a lot of force, 
For Lady Croup remarked, 'Tut, tut, 
Me tiara's jammed upon me nut.' 
Sir Charles, her husband, left his pork 
And tried to move it with a fork. 
The butler with unruffled calm 
Said, 'Sir, you'll only cause her harm, 
Give her something soft to lie on 
And bash it with the fire iron.' 
So the lady wouldn't feel pain, 
They gave her rum and iced champagne. 
Quite befuddled with the wine 
She lay and sang, 'Sweet Adeline'
Whilst both men without fear or dread
Clouted her about the head.
Three times they knocked her earhole off
But each time like a perfect toff
The butler had the ear replaced
With treacle and some flour paste.
Sir Charles then said, 'We just can't do it
Let's stop this lark and try to screw it.'
And so they laid her on the ground
And screwed the tiara round and round.
This didn't serve to break the spell,
The old girl's head went round as well.
She had no trouble after that
Until she had to wear a hat.
It fitted in peculiar manner,
She screwed the hat on with a spanner.
Her husband calls her titled head
The old nut with a left-hand thread.
The end