'Twas an afternoon in a wet July
Oh I was hungry and I was dry
And in a pub called The Ivy Bunch
The landlord served me a ploughman's lunch

Landlord listen here, for your bread is old
This is margarine and not Kerrygold
The pickled onions are like concrete
And the Cheddar smells like an old man's feet

And this tiny tub of Lidl's churn-ee
Has a sell by date of nineteen seventy three
This isn't coleslaw it's a Monster Munch
And I don't call this a ploughman's lunch

Well the landlord bold punched me in the snout
Then he boxed my ears and he threw me out
He said Oi smartarse! I'll make it clear
That's what the ploughmen all eat round here!

So I hied me down to the Eastbridge shore
To the Eels Foot as oft times before
The landlord said I have got a hunch
That what you need is a ploughman's lunch

There was a salad green and tomatoes bright
And a bap the size of the Isle of Wight
And a piece of cheese twice as big as me
And chutney thick as Wayne Roo-nee

There were apples red and best Suffolk ham
And pickled onions much bigger than
The bollocks found on a Suffolk Punch
Now that's what I call a ploughman's lunch!

So when I die, pickle me in brine
With a Spanish onion and slice me fine
And pretty maidens for Sunday bunch
Will eat me up as a ploughman's lunch!