A dog can't be a butcher, and a bachelor can't be a matchmaker.
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Bachelor Boy
When I was young my father said
Son I have something to say
And what he told me Ill never forget
Until my dyin day.
He said son you are a bachelor boy
And thats the way to stay.
Son, you be a bachelor boy until your dyin day
When I was sixteen I fell in love
With a girl as sweet as could be.
But I rememberd just in time,
What my daddy said to me.
He said son you are a bachelor boy
And thats the way to stay.
Son, you be a bachelor boy until your dyin day
As time goes by I propably will
Meet a girl and fall in love
Then Ill get married have a wife and a child
And theyll be my turtle doves.
But until then Ill be a bachelor boy and thats the way Ill stay,
Happy to be a bachelor boy,
Until my dyin day.
But until then Ill be a bachelor boy and thats the way Ill stay,
Happy to be a bachelor boy,
Until my dyin day.
song performed by by Cliff Richard
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Bachelor of Arts is one who makes love to a lot of women, and yet has the art to remain a bachelor.
quote by Helen Rowland
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Reed College required a thesis for a Bachelor's degree. Normally a Bachelor's is sort of like being stamped 'Prime US Beef.' They just walk you through, hand out the diplomas and you fill in your name later on.
quote by David Eddings
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ill Be A Bachelor till I Die
Written and sung by hank williams
(d) Ill take you to the picture show and babe Ill hold your hand,
Ill sit up in your parlor, let you cool me with your (d7) fan,
Ill (g) listen to your troubles and (d) pet you when you cry, but get
That marryin out of your head, Ill be a (a7) bachelor til I (d) die.
I dont mind honky tonkin round if that will bring you fun,
But somehow I cant undersdtand how one and one make one,
I like to cuddle near you and listen to you lie,
But get that marryin out of your head, Ill be a bachelor til I die.
Now if you want a helpmate youre wastin lots of time,
cause Im afraid of church bells, how they scare me when they chime,
Ive seen those married people just up and say goodbye,
So get that marryin out of your head, Ill be a bachelor til I die.
This freedoms mighty precious in this land of liberty,
Ive seen what matrimony done to better men than me,
I dont mind keepin company with the apple of my eye,
But keep that marryin out of your head, Ill be a bachelor til I die.
song performed by by Hank Williams
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Married Man
Reservist of the Line
The bachelor 'e fights for one
As joyful as can be;
But the married man don't call it fun,
Because 'e fights for three --
For 'Im an' 'Er an' It
(An' Two an' One make Three)
'E wants to finish 'is little bit,
An' e' wants to go 'ome to is tea!
The bachelor pokes up 'is 'ead
To see if you are gone;
But the married man lies down instead,
An' waits till the sights come on,
For 'im an' 'Er an' a hit
(Direct or recochee)
'E wants to finish 'is little bit,
An' 'e wants to go 'ome to 'is tea.
The bachelor will miss you clear
To fight another day;
But the married man, 'e says "No fear!"
'E wants you out of the way
Of 'Im an' 'Er an' It
(An' 'is road to 'is farm or the sea),
'E wants to finish 'is little bit,
An' 'e wants to go 'ome to 'is tea.
The bachelor 'e fights 'is fight
An' streches out an' snores;
But the married man sits up all night --
For 'e don't like out-o'-doors.
'E'll strain an' listen an' peer
An' give the first alarm--
For the sake o' the breathin' 'e's used to 'ear,
An' the 'ead on the thick of 'is arm.
The bachelor may risk 'is 'ide
To 'elp you when you're downed;
But the married man will wait beside
Till the ambulance comes round.
'E'll take your 'ome address
An' all you've time to say,
Or if 'e sees there's 'ope, 'e'll press
Your art'ry 'alf the day --
For 'Im an' 'Er an' It
(An' One from Three leaves Two),
For 'e knows you wanted to finish your bit,
An' 'e knows 'oo's wantin' you.
Yes, 'Im an' 'Er an' It
(Our 'only One in Three),
We're all of us anxious to finish our bit,
An' we want to get 'ome to our tea!
Yes, It an' 'Er an' 'Im,
Which often makes me think
The married man must sink or swim
An' -- 'e can't afford to sink!
Oh, 'Im an' It an' 'Er
Since Adam an' Eve began!
So I'd rather fight with the bacheler
An' be nursed by the married man!
poem by Rudyard Kipling
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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When a whore repents she becomes a matchmaker.
The right one bows to the might.
The goat can’t expect mercy from the butcher.
The butcher has no guilt for his act on it.
The weak have necessarily to succumb
To the might, with their right notwithstanding.
24.11.2007
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The matchmaker always asks for too much money for his eight hundred lies.
The matchmaker gets three cups of wine when he succeeds and three slaps on the cheek when he fails.
Didn't He Ramble
Didn't he ramble.... he rambled
Rambled all around.... in and out of town
Didn't he ramble....didn't he ramble
He rambled till the butcher cut him down
His feet was in the market place..his head was in the street
Lady pass him by, said..look at the market meat
He grabbed her pocket book..and said i wish you well
She pulled out a forty-five..said i'm head of personnel
Didn't he ramble...i said he rambled
Rambled all around...in and out of town
Didn't he ramble...oh didn't he ramble
He rambled till the butcher shot him down
(instrumental break)
He slipped into the cat house..made love to the stable
Madam caught him cold..said i'll pay you when i be able
Six months had passed ..and she stood all she could stand
She said buddy when i'm through with you
Ole groundhog gonna be shakin yo' hand
And didn't he ramble...he rambled
Rambled all around...in and out of town
Oh didn't he ramble......he rambled
You know he rambled...till the butcher...cut him down
I said he rambled..lord...'till the butcher shot him down
song performed by by Louis Armstrong
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Catch The Man
Catch the man who escapes for something,
His entrance to the jaws of life conveys nothing;
Might and power betrays the worker in outer life,
Mastered knowledge is the reality.
Caught in the act, a dog and man are the same,
The thief surpasses a butcher, but does the thief
Also butcher the one who is in his way,
The one in the way of success and prosperous conversation?
poem by Naveed Akram
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Butcher Boosted
Why do they flock,
To have their meat...
Stripped clean of fat?
And who is that selected...
To do just that?
This butcher boosted,
Is preferred!
And slices exactly what is wished.
To rid them of maggots leeching.
And feed to them a diet to feast...
With an increased desire,
To eat from a substance...
More nutritiously dished!
Without those promises of expectations...
That have left them with tastebuds,
Long on delusion!
And not fed with sensations demanded.
This butcher boosted...
Openly will command,
With an exposed and uncloaked hand...
Those who witness the slicing that is done,
Will come to understand!
This butcher boosted is no joke.
And each stroke is meant,
To rid them from all deceptions hidden.
And qualified are the intentions made...
To open all eyes along the way!
'There is no fat on this cat's back!
Down to basics.
With an eye on facts.
Delivered and received!
To nourish a return of reality believed.'
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Boardinghouse by the riverside
He has lost his youthful idealism.
The old bachelor sips his mug of coffee,
She stirred well the spinster Landlady.
I have no idea any further,
But he's a boarder with the rest two,
A barber and a bankrupt fisherman.
Bachelor depends on his pension
And he dreams all the time,
If he marries this stingy lady
by an accident he could buy
The fisherman's selling boat
and live happily by fishing?
[We are always the same age inside.-Stein]
nimal dunuhinga
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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The Butcher's Shop - UK Style
Legs, Shoulders, Ribs and Shanks,
Chops, Sirloins, Breasts and Flanks,
These are all 'meats' of the Butcher's trade,
Where lots of delicious 'things' are made.
Hams, Pies, Pickles and Stuffing,
No I am really not bluffing,
Chicken, Goose, Turkey and Duck,
To buy these things you need some 'pluck'.
With these 'meats' you need to know,
How to steam and roast, real slow,
How to fry, simmer and grill,
It can be quite a difficult skill.
But the kindly Butcher will help you out,
You really only have to shout,
He knows the cuts, has all the info,
With all his knowledge, he's a real pro.
He knows how long to cook things for,
How the baste and how to score
The pork, so that lovely 'crackling' can be had,
Now think of it! That can't be bad.
There's livers, kidneys and chitterlings which,
Grab the taste buds, gee they're rich,
Bacon, sausages and corned beef slices,
Some with garlic, some with spices.
Whatever you like, it's all ready for you.
Even if you have to queue,
It's worth the wait, for what you'll get
It'll melt in the mouth, that I can bet!
Your friendly Butcher is a capable chap,
He'll answer your questions without a flap,
So try all his produce, the flavours are great,
You'll never have anything left on your plate.
There's variety beyond belief,
Try any 'meat' you'll come to no grief,
The choice is amazing, the recipes fab,
There's always a choice on the Butcher's slab.
poem by Ernestine Northover
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The Wooing o' t
He was a bachelor, gallant and gay
She was a spinster prim -
Pretty and prim, with a wonderful way
Which had captivated him.
Oh! well knew she what he wished to say,
So - never frigid nor freezy -
Molly Maginnis managed that day
To make his saying o' 't easy.
'Bob, I shall get you a wife,' said she,
'Find some nice, dear girl for you;
Bob! please tell me the sort she must be,
Shall her eyes be brown or blue?
'Must she be of the 'plump and the pleasing' sort?
Will the 'slender and willowy' do?'
Here Robert the Bachelor, cutting her short,
Said: 'She must be just like you!
'And to me, sweetheart, 'tis distinctly clear,
There is none in the world like you.'
This fell in the fall of the finished year,
They are married now in the New.
poem by Harry 'Breaker' Harbord Morant
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Where all the poor in the village were buried?
Is this a cemetery?
The Gypsy Tinker, Negro Blacksmith, Grey-bearded Barber, One eyed Arabian butcher, Native Hangman & the family and the rest of all hide somewhere,
Nobody knows to point out so and so as no tombs were found there.
The flat graves show their innocence and poverty.
'Where is she? ' Hangman asks.
Butcher says; 'All are here brother and they are in a deep sleep.'
Hey! Now it's a playground for the children being a promise of the deceased dumb Mayor.
* Dedication to all the poet friends in the site.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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The Butcher
There has been a butcher at my heart
I have been cut, severed and served
Diced up to a presentation
The mince of my forlorn desire
Left sitting in a bowl to waste
A consumption to indigestion
A poison to the pallet of love
The colour or romance blood red
Cut out drained away
There has been a butcher at my heart
Splicing, stabbing, hacking away
No delicate cuts to present
The back table offerings
Usually kept for the dogs
Is this all my heart has to offer
A bargain counter deal
On left over’s
poem by Matthew Holloway
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A Matchmaker brings a Fuddy-Duddy Bridegroom for a teasing conservative Bride
The well known Matchmaker comes along the muddy road with him
And his bell bottoms swept the road,
The white pantaloon turned into brown color.
When he's introduced to the bride
She's shocked by seeing the baggy mud soaked trouser.
She grumbled with her parents in the kitchen;
'Mom & Dad I do not like to marry this Public Works Department Overseer,
Better propose him to the next door teacake aunty
And they are well match it seems.'
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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