The Peppers lived at number three;
Our house was at number eight.
We used to see them every day,
Crouched down behind their garden gate.
Mr Pepper’s hair was snowy white;
His stare grew ever bolder.
Mrs Pepper oozed the glamour,
Though was twenty-five years older.
They had a mangy dog called Fred
And at least a hundred cats.
They were so pampered that the place
Was overrun by mice and rats.
One day the Police and Council came
And the Peppers had to go.
We saw them trudge off down the road,
As the cold winter sun sank low.