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