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Fish Monging
Kate Rancid
Deep in the heart of London town,
Where the sky is black and the streets are brown,
And the air is thick with the fumes of cars,
And the roads are lined with banks and bars,
And the people run 'cos their time is short,
With their mobiles on and their faces taut.
Deep in the heart of London fair
A fishy smell pervades the air.

Just to one side of Upper Street,
Prepare yourselves for an awesome treat.
A woman whose stall is truly enthralling,
Despite the strong smell which is rather appalling.
A fish stall has she, in the heart of the city -
A stall filled with fish neither useful nor pretty.
She sits with these creatures by night and by day
Just in case custom might wander her way.

"Buy my fresh fish!" you can hear her call out.
"My haddock is lovely and so is my trout!
Why not try whitebait or maybe some sild?
Oh, buy my fresh fish! It's been recently killed!"
Her words are drowned out by the sound of the cars
And the people ignore her as they crawl from the bars.
No-one wants fish in the midst of the city.
They know that they're rancid and putrid and shitty.

The whelks are dishevelled, they've seen better times.
The mussels are brown with a thin layer of slime.
The prawns are as grey as a grey thing can be.
It's been several days since they last saw the sea.
A terrible odour hangs thick in the air.
Who in their right mind would buy stuff from there?
And who is the woman who owns this crap place?
Is she quite mad? Is she quite off her face?

Her name is Mad Gertrude, her story is sad.
She comes from the south coast, and she is quite mad.
Driven insane by a dose of the clap
That she caught off some sailor she ensnared in her trap.
The clap it grew nasty, untreated and sore.
The puss smelled so bad as it dripped on the floor,
And soon all the locals were up their arms
Wanting rid of mad Gertrude and her bad V.D. charms.

Now the seaside resort from where poor Gertrude hails
Is as stinky as poo and as slimy as snails,
But nothing around there could cover the smell
Of Gertrude's foul minge with its odour from Hell.
So the locals met up to discuss Gertrude's fate
Because her bad smell they had started to hate.
"Let's send her to London, it's a horrible place!
Where she can sell fish...

Do you fancy finishing this? I'm bored...

Mike: Sure! No problem!

... like turbot and dace.



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