Fred's Pizza

Just between you and me

A simple man was he,

Landing here from Italy.

He left his beloved Rome

To build a new home -

From friends he took a loan.

Though the naysayers said you can't,

But a seed he did plant,

So building his own restaurant.

For he knew he had the knack

With the dough and the spice rack;

A market he would crack.

And though his talent was raw,

A vision he saw -

His calling was Pizza.

And he learned well his trade,

The best Pizzas were made -

He had made the grade.

And soon wealthy was Fred,

So he took a wife - Mama Fred;

A former beauty it was said.

And soon she ran the show

While he flipped the dough,

Faded by the oven's glow.

Sixteen hours every day,

With the ovens he would stay,

Quietly working away.

And all the years in his new land,

English he still didn't understand;

Except for Pizza talk on demand.

Five words only he knew

For take out on 'Q'.

"Fifateen twenty minoots for you!"

Yes that was Pizza Fred,

His only English words said;

But what Pizza he fed.

And such was his growing fame,

The rich and famous came;

And of his greatness they did proclaim.

Now so 'avante garde' was he,

Even Andy Warhol came to see;

And well the rest is history.

It was a strange meeting,

These two great men eating,

While discussing fame so fleeting.

But now I think it's time the world knew;

Yes, Andy borrowed Fred's point of view.

"Fifateen twenty minoots for you!"