All for the love of a tray bake.
By Randall Stephen Hall.
https://soundcloud.com/hugh-midden-speaks/bobby-bun-face-6-5-12
He was born into a tough life and his mum would soon be gone.
A tale of transformation. The story of Robert Duff, whose mother has died
from heart complications, yet still, follows him throughout his daily life. Lucky for
Robert, and anyone else like him, who struggles with their weight and the desire
to score another bag of tray bakes.
Bobby Bun Face.
Big Bobby bun face
Belly in a bun case.
Sweeties in his digger.
Body getting bigger.
Big Bobby bun face
Stuff it, squeeze it in.
Drippin from your lips.
Stickin’ to yer hips.
Big Bobby bun face
Older, liking beer
Fags are even better.
Fat enormous sweater.
Sagging as the pounds
Clamber on like marching ants.
His pants and chest are tighter.
His light is so less brighter.
Who is here to save
Bobby bun face from his fate?
He needs a guardian angel.
A trainer, special mate.
Who will save him from himself
When Bobby’s buns go marching by?
Who’ll fill him full of pasta
Instead of great big greasy fries?
Big Bobby bun face
Has turned the corner now.
A heart attack at thirteen
Nearly killed the man and boy.
But an angel intervenes
As he’s lying there in bed
Strapped up to big machines
From piggy toe to piggy head.
The angel comes and hugs him,
Leaves a kiss upon his face.
Then sits and reads some magazines
And waits about the place.
Til’ the danger’s all but gone away
And he’s back up on his feet.
The angel stands on guard
When he’s wanting something sweet.
But things are gettin’ better.
Now he’s lighter on his toes.
No more need for tray bakes
No more need for pasty dough.
He first begins with small steps
With some walking every day.
His heart and lungs respond
So the breath soon comes his way
Then jogging pulls him up and out
Away from boggy ground
His head is looking up.
As his weight goes riding down.
The months go sailing by
Like a windmill in a breeze.
For he struggles like a Trojan
As he scrapes his muddy knees.
For Robert Bobby bun face
Is an athlete and so proud.
He’s shed the pounds like leaves.
They’re just lying on the ground.
He races now, so fast and far.
Never stops for just a jar
The fags that dragged him down
Well, He left them in the bar.
He even has a neck now
And a re-discovered chin.
He’ll never be a greyhound
And he’ll never be dead thin.
But Robert feels, so very happy.
More comfy in himself.
He’s lost that heavy feeling
With his re-recovered health.
Robert, Thin Man smiley face
Has evolved into a god.
So different from that lardy boy,
He’s such a smiley sod.
That angel, who once helped him.
Well, she never went away.
She always stayed on guard
Just in case young Bob should stray.
Binging on a load of buns
Is what young Bobby loved
Eclairs and fancy fairy cakes
In his mouth he loved to shove.
No more empty bun cases
Lying beneath young Bobby’s bed.
No more lardy, lardy chops.
No more feet of lead.
For Robert Bobby bun face
That angel was his mum.
She never ever left him.
For her work was rarely done.
She hung around
And hung around
Until he got the message.
“You don’t need pie and chips son
Or that big, extra sausage.”
So let that be a lesson
And a pointer to all of those.
Who struggle with their weight now.
Find it hard to fit their clothes.
Invite a guardian angel in
To hang around with you.
There might just be a crowd of them
Who follow what you do.
Next time you lift that slice of cake
And hold it to yer lips.
Imagine just how sexy
You’d be with slender hips.
So cut the fags and drinkin’
Get some exercise today.
You’ll just not know yerself, boy
As your body finds its way.
To a new found kind of freedom
As you glide on down the street.
Your friends will shout and comment.
“Has the butcher trimmed your meat?”
Bobby’s mum will often visit
Just to keep an eye on him.
Make sure he pounds the streets.
Instead of pounds around his chin.
He’s even got a girlfriend
And his heart and love’s in bloom.
There’s a baby on the way now
They got married just last June.
By Randall Stephen Hall ©
The Citizen Ship. Belfast. Nos 19.
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