For years, old Neddy had pulled that van
Working together with our bread man,
We were so used to him clip clopping along
It really was shocking, and seemed so wrong,
To hear that he had now been fired
By the company boss, he’s pronounced ‘Retired’
It just wasn’t the same, this new fangled van,
It had to be fed from a smelly old can;
No more bread crusts and buckets of water,
Just lots of petrol, and oil for this new motor;
No more manure for grandma’s roses,
But smelly oil spillage to offend our noses;
Then came the day of the ‘poisoning’ scare,
They didn’t use yeast to fill the bread with air,
But a poisonous gas called ‘Agene’ instead
Was pumped in to raise the dough for the bread;
That day our bread man knocked at the door
Really upset, his sales having been so poor,
When grandma told him that she wanted none
He broke down in tears, fearing his livelihood gone;
I cried for him too, he really was sad
An innocent victim of practices bad;
Then grandma went back to baking her own
So much nicer than the Bakery’s gas blown!