There's a better class of shopper up at Waitrose

(the 'shibboleth' of haute cuisine's 'quisites.)

Parking bulbous battle-wagons all akimbo;

Their trolleying, my poor oik-brain, defeats.

Gentility demands delicatessen,

My cheese-encounter verifies the rule:

She beat me as a Bwana beats a native

Shouting: "Serving girl - serve me, and not that fool!"

So I waited, out of turn, and sorts, in tandem

Just glad I had no cap I didn't doff,

I took my cheese - my spleen - my lowly status

And sought my little car - a lot cheesed off.

There's a better class of shopper up at Wai'rose

They're all top dogs with breeding to a 'T'

But that old dog's noblesse did no obliging,

The bitch just cocked her leg, and peed on me.