Curtis was but a wee lad, 30 stone, no more
Late one night eating crisps, he wanted something more
So down the steps, a-creak, a-creak, did young Curtis creep
Doing his best to leave his mum happy and asleep
Rounding the corner into the kitchen, Curtis set his sights
Crouching low, he held his breath, and turned on the lights
There it was! Just ahead, a white sparkling door
His quarry, his treasure, his refrigerator
Curtis snuck up to the fridge, quaking with fear
Opening the door, he wondered if they were even here
And huzzah! They were there, glistening, his favourite snack of all
The sausages, sweet sausages, sensing hunger's call
Tears flowing, Curtis reached, grasped the chilly meat
Gleefully giggling, he swung round, delighted at his feat
There stood mum (40 stone), shaking with fiery rage
She screamed, "Curtis, you little wanker, get back in your cage!"
And so Curtis dashed back upstairs, surely out of breath
Fleeing from the hairy arms that promised painful death
He reached his room, slammed the door, meat stuck to his chest
Eager for a bite of food before his evening rest
Thus young Curtis stole his sausage and fled from his mum
Until the morning, when she yelled and spanked his guilty bum
And so ends the tale of Curtis and the sausages he did seek
Or at least so he told us one day on Teamspeak.
Poll