| slagter se lewe [boodskap #10949] |
Sat, 04 October 1997 00:00 |
Martin Vivier
Boodskappe: 7
Geregistreer: September 1997
Karma: 0
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Junior Lid |
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die volgende geskrewe is deur 'n slagter van 90 jaar oud.
die is met sy een vinger getik op 'n ou tikmasjien in 'n ouetehuis in
Kimberley.
ek is self 'n slagter en dink dit is pragtig.
bye
martin
A BUTCHER'S LIFE
The night was dark, an hour before dawn,
The alarm would ring, a new day born,
A butcher's life was hard work then,
Only suited to the toughest of men,
A hurried wash, and breakfast, Oh no?
Then down the road a lighted butt would glow.
On reaching the shop, work started steady,
Meat to break down, cart to pack ready,
The breakfast was welcome, always a treat.
Hotbilly tea, and juicy grilled meat:
Then off on the round in the old cutting cart,
Clean striped apron, white coat, so smart,
The women were darlings, I remember with ease,
The majority of them one could never please.
Some wanted roasts, chump chops or grills,
Others each morn needs little liver pills:
But the butcher keeps cheerful, happy and gay,
Please all the women, their custom must stay.
Some would want lamb, a leg cut in half,
And if a good butcher, you'd do it and laugh.
But all good things must come to an end.
Now even the butchers have modernized trend.
No more rounds to drain a man mad,
To star at eight is not halve bad.
But to have old comrades, as I had then,
I guess I'd go buchtering all over again.
Deur Oom Swnnie (Swannepoel Slaghuis)
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