Now Mike who were livin' wi' Linda
A widow of some seven years
Were 'ungry as 'ungry as 'ungry could be
It fair nearly drove him to tears

Her chips they were ever so crispy
And brown - very brown on th'outside
And they were always hard in the middle
He said they were good - but he lied!

Rice puddin' she'd make him on Sundays
And she said it were never her fault
How it looked like summat the cat had brought up
And it always tasted of salt

Now her roast beef and Yorkshires were ever so good
He said time and again he were thrilled
But the trouble were this, the lad's culinary bliss
Seemed to come round about each Preston Guild

So as time went by she decided to try
What her mother had made for her dad
Things like cockles and spam and egg custard wi' jam
And for once it wasn't that bad

Now Audrey and Peter who lived over t' road
Were really quite fond of the pair
And they worried each night of the lad's tragic plight
Why he were nobut all skin and hair


They decided that as Mondays weren't very full
And as 'ow all - in - all and so what!
They'd have Linda and Mike round for dinner each week
They were welcome to what were in t' pot

So each Monday night they went over t' road
Regular as clockwork it were
Her with her lipstick and polish and paint
And him wi a quiff in his 'air

And they all settled down to roast chicken
Or maybe sometimes it were ham
And in winter it were steak and onions
Followed by sponge cake wi' custard and jam

They all said as 'ow they enjoyed monday nights
As into their food they were tuckin'
Mike feelin' grand eatin' good food again
While Linda felt grand she weren't cookin'

And when t' dinner were over and t' pots cleared away
In t' firelight's glow with full tums
They remembered how good their dinner had been

And how good it was just to be chums