When you need to rest or snooze, my four legs are yours to use. Potatoes spend too much time on me when they should be out and running free. Two notes make up my name, it's true, though I will never sing to you.

My first four a lie, a bogus farce, My last three something that comes from an arse. My whole dances foamily upon your top, Coaxing clean, shimmery waves from your filthy mop.

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What you do when dinner is done. A sad thing that might happen on a date. A type comedy or comic.

You can't eat me, but if I was a dessert I'd be rocky. I don't like seasonings, but I get salt when I'm frozen