They cleaned us out of custard,
made short work of the beer.
Baa Lamb Curry went down a treat,
raise a glass and shout three cheers.
Stayed up till five next morning,
played computer games.
Loaned ten quid from my begging bowl,
but nobody was to blame.
They ate a hearty breakfast,
mustard and fries on toast.
Then one said though it’s Tuesday,
can we dine on Sunday roast?
They complained about the gravy,
said the broccoli looked like trees.
At midnight, under moon so bright,
they invited their friends to tea.