She went to Palma to pick
winter woolies and thermal nics
the rain boomed
the Cathedral loomed
A soddened frock squelched into Corte Ingles
Help me I'm drowning!
It barked across the floor
Arms flailing, water flying, help me Senor!
It rushed from counter to counter
Ingles, ingles! it floundered
A hit and run machine gun gone wild
anyone hablas ingles? it riled
The spotless supervisor appeared
swept Mop to the British colonial gear.
She ohhed and aghed at the sheared delights
tarten, twead and tattersall tights!
Mops' nimble little fingers devoured
as the clock sped around the hour
the tanoe echoed 'closing in 10'.
Panic hit the Frock again
it fainted on the isle of polyester, the finest pink garments from Leicester
Swaddled head to toe
in a synethetic pink glow
Mop was greeted at the revolving door
by a seering heat and sun that soared
As it passed the Cathedral
voices whispered from the steeple
'beware of BBQs and campfires Mop
or you'll meet your just deserts, in one big pop!'