Ther was an owd biddy from Lancs
Who was famous fer cookin’ ‘am shanks,
A treat fer a Sunday,
Leftovers on Monday,
Fer t’ workers who always said, ‘Thanks!’
Fer Elsie’s mid-week beef stew,
Ther was always an ‘elluva queue,
Lemon meringue pie,
Was a sight fer sore eyes,
A temptation fer more than a few.
‘Er rhubarb an’ custard was ace,
Folk came from all over t’ place,
They piled in to t’ caff,
It wer served wi’out faff,
As long as the diners said ‘grace,’
In winter ‘er broth was a winner,
Yer couldn’t ‘ave tasted owt better,
When t’ cowd wind blew,
Elsie’s broth warmed yer thru,
Wi’ ‘ot crusty bread fer yer dinner.
When t’ Bramley apples arrived,
Excellence could not be denied,
Wi’ ice cream or custard
This pie was a must ‘ave,
A real taste of Heaven, no lie.
Owd Elsie alas kicked the bucket,
Caff shut till new owners took it,
They spruced up the venue,
Kept the same menu,
But we all missed the way Elsie cooked it!