Peter Bamford

One morning in sixteen sixty six,
A bakers assistant named Ted,
Were getting' behind in 'is orders,
When a brainwave popped into 'is 'ead.

He loaded all t'dough into th'oven,
An' to try an' speed t'process along,
Poured some coal-oil straight onto t'fire ,
But he knew reight away, he'd done wrong.

As t'flames into th'arth sputtered wildly,
Huge sparks up from t'grate they did pop.
Dirty smoke billo'ed up out o' th'oven,
And blackened all t'pastry in t'shop.

Wi' a bang like an eighteen inch cannon,
Th'oven door blew off its 'inge.
Ted knew it were time to get out o' the shop,
'Cause 'is eyebrows were startin' to singe.

As Ted made a bee-line for t'doorway,
Th'oven erupted again,
  An' a blazin' barm cake passed 'is 'ear as it flew,
Like a meteorite out into t'lane.

Th 'hole place 'ad become an inferno,
Impossible for Ted t'quell.
'Ot-cross buns 'ad set fire to the butchers
An' set leight to t'pie shop as well.

All t'shops went up like roman candles,
Settin' bonfires along Puddin' lane.
Ted were countin' on t'bakers insurance.
Fire brigade were all countin on t'rain.

Fanned bi t'breeze soon the flames reached the tower,
An' th'eat made all th'occupants swoon.
Barked the beefeaters captain "lets leg it or else,
We'll be barbequed beefeaters soon?"

Fire travelled westward towards Temple Church,
Leavin' carnage an' death in its wake.
From a safe vantage point Sam Pepys spectated t'blaze,
On which notes he 'ad started to take.

T'firestorm blazed on to t'northwest unallayed,
Leavin thousan's of 'ouses in ruin.

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