O-dour, what can the matter be…?

New Malton (Part 1.)

If something sounds iffy,
And you smell something niffy,
And your eyes go all squiffy,
It’ll be the wiffy
From the sewer at Butcher Corner.

If you cry “foul”,
And send up a howl,
It’ll be the contents of the bowel,
And the sanitary towel,
That can’t find its way to the river.

Malton: “Food Capital Of Yorkshire”,

The aromatic equivalent of torture,

Is pedalling very hard
To promote its own lard,
But patting something softer than butter.

The dairy it is churning,
Comes with a health warning,

From a cash-cow with golden teats.

More houses means more trousers,

More bums on toilets seats.

To the sewage farmer Yorkshire Water,
And RDC’s economic hindquarter,
Muck is Brass. (Ignore the gas)
More pees, more planning fees,
More water rates, more council tax.

More splosh, more dosh,
More splish, more splash,
More poo, more doo,
More dot and pebbledash.
More cash! More cash! More cash!

Simon Thackray, Brawby