Bury Market

 

Sod your birds; this is Bury’s dawn chorus

Where it’s banter, not patronising, to call me darling

When you’re yelling and you’re telling me

About the deal you’ve got going on your spuds

So many voices wash over me

That I can no longer tell

What exactly is a pound a pound

But I know I want some

This noise is so far removed

From the thump, thump, thumping aural assault

From trendy boutiques

Squeeze, squeeze, squeeze

That’ll be a week’s wages please

You must be kidding ‘cause these jeans

Are two for a tenner, mate

I may be counting the pennies

But I’m still looking sharp

Under tarps I found Bury chic

Change in me pocket and I ain’t looking cheap

As I stride through the food stalls

A cacophony of olfactory memories engulfs me

From sticky, sickly sweet

Deep fried sugar donuts

To the strangely comforting scent

Of boiled blood and pride

Here you will find fruit, veg, fresh meat and fish

From the four corners of the world

Stuff what Tesco ain’t never even heard of

Being flogged by the Saturday lads and girls

They ain’t the straightest bananas

The strawbs ain’t all uniform sizes

But you’re laughing at the quality

And you’re laughing at the prices

There ain’t no airs, no graces

No loyalty cards nor coupons took

No need to worry or get yourself in debt

It’s world famous

It’s a little bit of us

And we’re a little bit of it

That is Bury Market!