Cydershire

Some say the finest apples
are to be found in the heart of Kent

Some say the hills of Herefordshire
Some say Somerset

but I’ve tasted every apple
of every orchard of these isles
and the ones from fair Cydershire win
by miles and miles and miles

So, ferry me across to Cydershire
when the tide is calm and low
to where the lasses are ripe and rosy
and the lads are in the know

Where every cider apple is squeezed
between strong and generous thighs
and every cider barrel is full
of groans and moans and sighs

Yes, ferry me across to Cydershire
upon a gentle summer breeze
and I’ll while away my remaining days
in semi-drunken ease

Yes, I’ll while away my remaining days
in semi-drunken ease