To have eye one on the cat and another on the frying-pan.
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The Brunt Of The Heat
A frying cake blamed a frying pan
And the frying pan, the frying cake
For the brunt of heat they bore from the stove
Like a woman and his son’s wife do.
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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In the Frying Pan!
IN the frying pan!
Frying;
Cooking with the art of love,
In style;
And like y
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Out Of The Frying Pan
out of the frying pan (and into the fire)
It's only two o'clock and the temperture's beginning to soar
And all around the city you see the walking wounded and the living dead
It's never been this hot and i've never been so bored
And breathing is just no fun anymore
And then i saw you like a summer dream
And you're the answer to every prayer that i ever said
I saw you like a summer dream
And you're the answer to every prayer that i ever said
You can feel the pulse of the pavement racing like a runaway horse
The subways are steaming and the skin of the street is gleaming with sweat
I've seen you sitting on the steps outside
And you were looking so restless and reckless and lost
I think it's time for you to come inside
I'll be waiting here with something that you'll never forget
I think it's time for you to come inside
I'll be waiting here with something that you'll never forget
Come on! come on!
And there'll be no turning back
You were only killing time and it'll kill you right back
Come on! come on!
It's time to burn up the fuse
You've got nothing to do and even less to lose
You've got nothing to do and even less to lose
So wander down the ancient hallway
Taking the stairs only one at a time
Follow the sound of my heartbeat now
I'm in the room at the top, you're at the end of the line
Open the door and lay down on the bed
The sun is just a ball of desire
And i wanna take you out of the frying pan (and into the fire)
Out of the frying pan (and into the fire)
Out of the frying pan (and into the fire)
And i wanna take you out of the frying pan (and into the fire)
Out of the frying pan (and into the fire)
Out of the frying pan (and into the fire)
And into the fire! fire! fire!
And into the fire! fire! fire!
And into the fire! fire! fire!
And into the fire!
It's only two o'clock and the tempertures beginning to soar
And all around the city you see the walking wounded and the living dead
It's never been this hot and i've never been so bored
And breathing is just no fun anymore
And then i saw you like a summer dream
And you're the answer to every prayer that i ever said
I saw you like a summer dream
And you're the answer to every prayer that i ever said
Come on! come on!
And there'll be no turning back
You were only killing time and it'll kill you right back
Come on! come on!
It's time to burn up the fuse
You've got nothing to do and even less to lose
You've got nothing to do and even less to lose
So wander down the ancient hallway
Taking the stairs only one at a time
Follow the sound of my heartbeat now
I'm in the room at the top, you're at the end of the line
Open the door and lay down on the bed
The sun is just a ball of desire
And i wanna take you out of the frying pan (and into the fire)
Out of the frying pan (and into the fire)
Out of the frying pan (and into the fire)
And i wanna take you out of the frying pan (and into the fire)
Out of the frying pan (and into the fire)
Out of the frying pan (and into the fire)
And into the fire! fire! fire!
And into the fire! fire! fire!
And into the fire! fire! fire!
And into the fire!
song performed by by Meat Loaf
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Fishing Song: To J.A. Froude and Tom Hughes
Oh, Mr. Froude, how wise and good,
To point us out this way to glory-
They're no great shakes, those Snowdon Lakes,
And all their pounders myth and story.
Blow Snowdon! What's Lake Gwynant to Killarney,
Or spluttering Welsh to tender blarney, blarney, blarney?
So Thomas Hughes, sir, if you choose,
I'll tell you where we think of going,
To swate and far o'er cliff and scar,
Hear horns of Elfland faintly blowing;
Blow Snowdon! There's a hundred lakes to try in,
And fresh caught salmon daily, frying, frying, frying.
Geology and botany
A hundred wonders shall diskiver,
We'll flog and troll in strid and hole,
And skim the cream of lake and river,
Blow Snowdon! give me Ireland for my pennies,
Hurrah! for salmon, grilse, and-Dennis, Dennis, Dennis!
Eversley, 1856.
poem by Charles Kingsley
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Frying Pan's Theology
Shock-headed blackfellow,
Boy (on a pony).
Snowflakes are falling
Gentle and slow,
Youngster says, "Frying Pan
What makes it snow?"
Frying Pan, confident,
Makes the reply --
"Shake 'im big flour bag
Up in the sky!"
"What! when there's miles of it?
Surely that's brag.
Who is there strong enough
Shake such a bag?"
"What parson tellin' you,
Ole Mister Dodd,
Tell you in Sunday-School?
Big pfeller God!
"Him drive 'im bullock dray,
Then thunder go;
Him shake 'im flour bag --
Tumble down snow!"
poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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One eye on the frying-pan and the other on the cat.
Out of the frying pan, into the fire.
quote by Tertullian
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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At Shrove-tide every one had need of his frying-pan.
Don't jump from the frying pan into the fire.
He has enough to do who holds the handle of a frying-pan.
A blow from a frying-pan, if it does not hurt, smuts.
The grill said to the frying pan: I want big fishes not minnows.
A blow from a frying-pan blacks, though it may not hurt.
The Candy Man
Come my child,
Come & play for a while.
I have candy & sweets for you,
If you’re a good boy I’ll give you cakes too.
Eat, eat as much as you like.
Don’t worry about anything my little tyke.
For tonight we shall eat & eat,
And have us a great little feast.
Of food beyond your wildest dreams,
Just stay here with me, for all as it seems.
And stay, stay just for a while.
So says the little candy man,
Watch for the little candy man.
For he may eat you, in a stew, or a can,
Or he’ll eat you alive in a frying pan.
Come, come my child,
Come & play for a while.
As I sharpen my forks & knifes,
I am so lonely for you see, little child I have no wives.
So you keep me company in my great little feast,
All I’ll need is little more salt & a little yeast.
First I’ll cut you up & drink your blood,
Skin you nice & throw it in the mud.
There you go in the oven to bake,
As I watch your dead little eyes still awake.
Come, come my child, & play for a while.
So says the little candy man,
Watch for the little candy man.
For he may eat you, in a stew, or a can,
Or he’ll eat you alive in a frying pan.
poem by Yazzy Nixon
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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