Fashion icons line the wall as punters patiently blink.
There's a £6 slogan t-shirt; luminous green or neon pink.
It's a Drunken Culinary kingdom; it's an existential sin,
if you've never left at 4am with gravy on your chin.
Bouncers awkwardly avert their eyes as they keep the peace in pairs.
Yep - you heard that right, folks; two bouncers on the stairs,
'cause if there's only one steak pie left and the rest is vegetarian,
we're heading for a performance, chaps, and it's gonna be a scary 'un.
Synthesised riffs from the Galaxy above
as drunken tiffs puts pride before love;
in the restaurant room with the picnic benches:
no Ladies & Gents; just Wankers & Wenches.
"I'll tell you what I fancy, love -
I'll have a bottle of Beck's from the fridge,
'cause you all might have stopped drinking,
but I'm from Horbury Bridge.
And I'm-- yeah, I'll have some gravy, love:
have you got any, err, bangers & mash?
Oh hey up, wait 2 minutes, like:
I need to get some cash."
You've spent the evening delivering a sermon; praising Pie Shop chips.
As we climbed the stairs I saw the salivation on your lips.
But as you grasp the polystyrene tray that's fit to feed a horse,
you go and bloody dowse the things in fake tomato sauce.
And you might have pecs and tats and tans and haircuts from the navy,
but I've seen you sitting sheepishly with chips and cheese and gravy:
if you go into the Pie Shop, and you actively avoid the pie,
do not expect to meet me soon and look me in the eye.
You can go to The Hepworth all you want for your arty farty needs.
If you're really feeling cultured, why not catch the train to Leeds.
But if you really want the jewelled crown in the Wakefield Westgate story,
it's the Drunken Culinary Kingdom in all its gravy glutton glory.