My mauve silk trousers  fell off in the slutch
I ‘d read the fashion page on Friday night 
Whatever did they mean,  do bring  the pitch?

In heels my entire body seems to lurch
My mother often muttered, what a sight
My mauve silk trousers spluttered in the slutch

A clutch of eggs . a handbag, butter Dutch
My coat was yellow  since  that yolky night
Whatever did they mean, we wring in Church

Slutch is kind of mud that’s damp and rich
In Lancashire, we fall in it when tight
My mauve silk trousers   wasted by the slutch

My hem is down and I’ve no-one to stitch
Am I here for love or to be right?
Whatever did they dream about  our hunch?

I read the fashion page;I saw the light
Turn it off. I don’t feel I am bright
My mauve silk trousers   ruined in the slutch
I had to wear pyjamas in the Church