You were a good frypan
A frypan you was
My friends so adored you
They nicknamed you Froz

‘Scramble my eggs mate!’
We’d so often call
‘You’re cooking breakfast!
You’re cooking it all!’

First you’ll fry the bacon
Then you’ll heat the sauce
And don’t forget the mushrooms
And baked beans of course

The heat is now on
Your hot frying ass
You better get working
You’ll cook to the last!

You’ve got hash browns to go yet
Those tatties and plums
Occasionally you’ll even simmer
For the sake of our tums

Obviously you’ll fry a lot
I never asked you to bake
And you can leave the bloody poaching
To your other steel mate

You won’t be boiling water
You’ll probably prefer the good oil
It’s you that likes the gritty bits
The olives, blood and toil

But although you got quite cocky
About the way you’d cook your chops
I always gave you a helping hand
So things would turn out tops.

You were more than an ornament
Or an accoutrement of good charm
With the aromas you loosened
You’ve always disarmed

The stress from the stomach
The pain from the throat
Though I only used you for breakfast
You always seemed to gloat

About the way your coat was so shiny
Your edges no less
You bugger you were always so tidy
It was me who made the mess!

Thank-you Pan for all those years
Cooking at home at our place
You kept my friends from hangovers
And you helped me stuff their face

Cheers to the good times
My battered rusty friend
You were valiant at the beginning
And still useful at the end