She had a bun in the oven
It was a hot, cross bun
A bun that was damn hot and angry
Just puffing and steaming
To be someone
It was the fifties
There was war in the streets
With Mussolini and his gangsters
Raiding Greek houses
For blood and for meat
The day a mother went
To claim what was rightfully hers
The same baker could’ve saved
A mother and child from simple hunger
There was tradition in the village
That when a woman is with babe
She is entitled to a free loaf of bread
But the baker must see her baby bump on display
But when the woman went to a baker
He looked her in the stomach and said:
“You do not look very pregnant to me
You are so thin, your stomach’s flat, lady
Your baby is probably dead”
“Will not be wasting my bread on liars”
He said, woman lowered her head
Face like thunder, baker could’ve saved
A mother and child from simple hunger