Poison Pie lady, my god you are shady.
The way you treat everyone, you are no lady.
Openly telling me, you resent others
after the nightclub, dragging their lovers.
‘That never went on, not in my day’
What planet are you on? Are you here to stay?
Your shop is open 24 hours,
I pity anyone under your powers.
The pie I had bought, I thought it was cheese
the smell it gave off, would never please.
It turned out to be chicken and mushroom,
the next 24 hours were full of gloom.
I was so sick from it, I couldn’t twitch
it got me to thinking that you were a bitch,
is this how you punish the locals who party?
After midnight, god help all the tarty!
I think you’re a virgin, if cooking’s to go by
the way to a man’s heart, it ain’t through your pie.
I know you’re frustrated, you hate young’ uns freedom,
when they misbehave and get loud, how you hate ‘em.
They come in the shop just to tease you with malice
perhaps you deserve it, your shop is no palace.
It’s not just the pie, all the chips that you fried
were so full of sunflower oil, they had died.
I barely picked one up with my finger
‘twas dripping all over, the grease did linger.
The oil even stained the brown paper bag
now it resembles a slimy wet rag.
For others it’s easy, they’d just blame the drink
and come back next week, unable to think.
You are the vulture, to punish with hate
all the young rowdy ones who irritate.
Your day is coming, when someone will sue
this poem is telling you what you must do.
copyright@emmasharn2010
