Fred Floppit tries to save his reputation (and a pram)

 

 

When the Shrapnel girls got Kalling

They put the world to rights

With philosophy and politics

And talking bloody shite

 

Around a pram, atop Cesspit hill

They whiled the hours away

With idle gossip, and chit-chat

To pass the time of day

 

Thora Shrapnel was holding court

With her sister, and her mam

Slagging some rough slapper off

While leaning on the pram

 

Fred Floppit was just within earshot

As they ripped their poor victim apart

A can of beer, and a cigarette

A scratch of his bum, and a fart

 

“Morning Ladies” said Fred

In a bid to act a bit civil

But the ‘Ladies’ just carried on kalling

With gossip, and chit-chat, and drivel

 

You see Fred had a bad reputation

A drunkard, a ne’er-do-well fool

So the ‘Ladies’ gave him the cold shoulder

The way that they tret him was cruel

 

You’d think, alcoholism was catching

And that Fred was the cause of contagion

But even heifers have standards

So they ignored him on every occasion

 

“Well bugger you all then” thought Fred

As he swigged on his special brew

“You shouldn’t be stood here kalling”

“Find summet better to do”

 

“You should all be stuck in your kitchens”

“Mekin’ your ‘usbands their snap”

“Not here, on the street, with your gossip”

“And talking your bloody old crap

 

Contempt is a two way transaction

And the girls never thought much of Fred

The Village Idiot – Town Drunkard

Oh yes – the local Piss head

 

The pram was an old Silver-Cross

A carriage-built beauty of old

But now it was bent, and ramshackled

And covered with dirt, and with mould

 

To put a child in such a contraption

Was surly an act of neglect

But the Shrapnels were all raggy arses

And not the type you could respect

 

She only looked away for a minute

When gravity caught hold of the pram

And she never noticed it rolling

As she chatted with sister, and mam

 

Cesspit Hill was a chuffing steep road

With a gradient of thirty degrees

That’s three in one, in old money

It wore your shoes out, right up to your knees

 

The pram was now over the brow

And gathering speed, as it fell

When Thora Shrapnel let out a cry

“Mi pram, stop it, bloody hell”

 

This was Fred’s one chance to shine

Save his reputation, from virtual tatters

If he could rise to the occasion

And be a hero, just when it matters

 

If he could evert the inevitable

And save the pram, from a crash

He’d rescue his own reputation

Of a man always out on the lash

 

As he set off in hot pursuit

The pram started drawing away

He reached for the handle, to grab it

Determined to save the day

 

With a flying dive, he grabbed for the handle

But Fred, being Fred – He missed

He couldn’t have done it when sober

So he’d no chance, being half pissed

 

Poor Fred hit the ground with a crash

A cellulite wobbling splat

As the pram carried on, rolling downwards

And that’s where poor Fred lost his hat

 

He landed between the back wheels

The handle was well out of view

And that’s when he sighted the axle

Not ideal, but it’d just have to do

 

With both hands he grabbed at the axle

And gravity grabbed hold of him

As he, and the pram locked together

It nearly pulled him, limb from limb

 

Fred hung on for grim death

As the pram dragged him down the steep slope

His welly came off, and he shattered his knees

But he never did give up hope

 

It was as if Fred and the pram became one

Together, in rapid decent

His trousers – shot through on the tarmac

His other welly came off, and it went

 

With the main road looming towards him

And the pram getting faster, and faster

Fred needed to do something, sharply

If he was to avoid a disaster

 

The thought of the sprog in the pram

And the consequence of getting it wrong

Filled Fred’s big heart with bravado

As the contraption pulled him along

 

The tyre was just within reach

And Fred thought of a way he could stop it

He reached out a hand, and grabbed hold of the tyre

Well what do you expect? He’s a Floppit

 

Human flesh smells like pork when it burns

And yes, you get smoke without fire

With blackened skin, and blisters

Fred never let go of the tyre

 

He brought the pram to a halt, just in time

His body, now shattered and wrecked

With grazes, abrasions and blisters

Perhaps now, he’d get some respect

 

The Shrapnel girls ran down the hill

“Are you alright Fred?” asked their mam

And Thora gave him his wellies back

As he sat down, and bled, by the pram

 

“Aye love, I’m alright” said Fred

“And at least I saved the kid”

His big daft heart, pounding proud in his chest

As he thought of the good, that he did

 

“Fred, you daft chuff” said Thora

“There wasn’t a baby int’ pram”

“The pram’s full o’ coal, you soft bugger”

“I wor takin’ some round, for mi mam”

 

And so it was all for nowt

Another story to add to the list

Of Fred and his bad reputation

For getting things wrong when he’s pissed