by Roger Brocksom Now Cleopatra were t' Princess Of Egypt, long ago; They say she ruled it very well Wi' pageant, pomp and show. This lass were quite a pretty sight, Her figure—one o' t' best; Wi' long tight skirt from waist to heel And not much round 'er chest. She didn't wear no queenly robes, Which some thought rather rash; But when she'd paid for t' Pyramids It left 'er short o' cash. She weren't much struck wi' local lads, They 'adn't got no passion; But one day up come Antony In short shirt—Roman fashion. Now Tony, he were t' travelling man For Caesar, boss o' Rome; Fifth columnist he really were And made himself at home. Now Cleo lived on t' barge on t' Nile Wi' dancing girls and such-like; And every morning Tony came To woo 'er on 'is push-bike. Now Cleo, all broadminded like, Soon fell in love wi' t' lad; And 'e forgot as 'e were spy And ma's advice 'e'd 'ad. They carried on in t' dream of bliss And Tony gave up spying; But Caesar, when 'e 'eard the news, 'E yelled like 'e were dying. 'E were that mad 'e went wi' t' fleet To invade wi' men and 'orses; But Tony, 'e got wind o' this, And called up Cleo's forces. And soon commenced the gory fray, And bodies littered t' ground; But 'twere wi' Caesar's battleaxe That Tony's 'ead were crowned. Now Cleo, watching from afar, Saw 'er young man go west, And killed 'erself, just out o' spite, Wi' asp clutched to 'er chest. So if tha goes to Egypt, lad, Think on those two of old; And if tha spoons on barges... well, Don't say tha's not been told.
The end