Photo credit: Fat Brenda on Twitter
Oh do you know the Weathy Arms
They sell the dodgy ale.
The Rovers is the place for me
It flamin’ never fails!
I’m a working girl, Fat Brenda,
At Streetcars for me sins.
Folk call asking for a ride;
That’s where it all begins.
I share the load with Eileen;
She thinks she’s quite a belter.
But she’s more of a bumper car
And I’m the helter skelter.
My fingers work the switchboard
While my tongue could charm t’bees.
Folk expect a free happy ending
When they flamin’ call to chat to me.
One bloke wanted to marry me.
He sounded quite a dish.
He threw up int back of t’taxi.
Fit fer nowt, he were far too p*ssed.
Not got time for a full time lover
Though I’ve got buckets of love to give.
It’d interfere with me nights out
And I tell you, I know how to live.
I rock up to work in my lycra.
Looking beltin’, no word of a doubt!
But I’ve never been so insulted…
Steve said me kebab meat were hanging out.
I told him he wouldn’t know fashion;
Not if it slapped him in t’face.
Said he was lucky to have my ample charms
To liven up the place.
He said it wasn’t up to him
And that punters had complained.
I were sorry some fares were frosty
But my strawberry mivvi weren’t to blame!
Steve insisted the miniskirt had to go.
I told him that this weren’t over.
I staggered across t’cobbles
And went to sort me head out in the Rovers.
There’s a moral to this ‘ere story.
Well, a loose one, of flamin’ course.
There’s nothing that a pint of unbranded
And a Betty’s hotpot cannot sort!
The Ballad of Fat Brenda is a poem written by Ms Moem.
This is post 28 of 100 blog posts in 100 days!