Fred and Bullfrog Floppit (a re-post)



Fred and Bullfrog Floppit


It was a bloody sad night in The Feathers

Bitter melancholy, make no mistake

It was meant be Fred Floppit’s stag night

But it felt more like - a funeral wake


The landlord cried tears in his wallet

When he thought of the custom he’d lose

If Fred became hen-pecked and homely

And not spend all his money on booze


You see, Fred was a legend at supping

And Bullfrog weren’t too far behind

The famously hard drinking Floppits

They really were two of a kind


It was Bullfrog who threw down the gauntlet

When he challenged his big brother – Fred

“I’ll race thee, the first one to neck twenty pints”

“We sup that most nights, when all’s said”


So t’landlord set forty pints up, on the bar

With a smile, as he thought of his till

That’s twenty for Bullfrog, and twenty for Fred

The looser to pick up the bill


The race was a foregone conclusion

Once Fred got into his stride

He opened his gullet, and poured ‘em right down

Without even touching the side


Fred Floppit’s legs must be hollow

The way that he handled his booze

But Bullfrog can put some away too

In a race he was destined to lose


Fred won, by just half a pint

And Bullfrog payed for the honour

He said, “Next week, you’ll be under the thumb”

“She won’t let you out, you’re a gonner”


“Won’t let me out?” said Fred

“Under the thumb, not me”

“I’ll be back out supping, once t’nuptials are done”

“Just you, wait and see”

Well, the days turned to weeks, and the weeks turned to months

And Fred never showed his daft face

So Bullfrog took matters, into his own hands

And marched round - to Fred’s marital place


It was Giselle Floppit who answered the door

In a haze of smoke, from her pipe

She said “Fred’s stoppin’ in to ‘ave dinner with me”

And she showed him the onions and tripe


“Can I just ‘ave a word?” said Bullfrog

His demeanour all shrunken and placid

“NO, he’s havin’, his dinner with me”

She said with a tongue of pure acid


With that, she slammed the door

Leaving Bullfrog out in the cold

A brave man would’ve had much more to say

But Bullfrog was never that bold


Bullfrog looked in, through the letterbox

Saw a picture of marital bliss

Fred in his pinny, doing his chores

When he should’ve been out on the piss

He put his lips to the letterbox

And shouted to Fred

“We’re missin’ thee”

 “Down at the feathers” he said


“What are you doin’?”

“Stuck there in the house”

“Show ‘er who’s boss”

“Yur a man, not a mouse”


With his mouth to the letterbox

He shouted once more

As he tried to get Fred

To come to the door


He never saw Giselle

With her sweeping brush

Put the handle through t’letterbox

And smack him int’ mush


With a grinding crack

She gave him a clout

Nearly knocked his head off

As she smashed his teeth out

If the truth be known

The story ends here

Bullfrog missing his teeth

Fred - missing his beer


But fast-forward a week

They were both re-united

Back in the feathers

The landlord delighted


A challenge went out

The twenty pint race

And Bullfrog - now toothless

Could quicken his pace


With the absence of teeth

Which slow a man down

He out-supped their Fred

To steal his proud crown


The hard-drinking Floppits

Back where they belong

Together, united

In merriment and song



◄ When The Aliens Landed In Grimstone Low

The Annual Talent Show (Down At The Feathers) ►


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Hazel ettridge

Sun 24th Mar 2019 12:21

I'm on tenterhooks!

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kJ Walker

Sun 24th Mar 2019 10:00

This is one of my older poems. I've just finished one which could be seen as a sequel, so I've re-posted this now, and I'll post the sequel tomorrow.

Cheer Kevin

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