midfielder
Well-Known Member
Mate just quoted me a poem as best he could and I have written it as best I could remember... Does anyone know who wrote it .. when etc.. Dibo this should suit you
Then I tho we don't have a thread for things we don't know, well at least I don't think we do... so maybe this could be it ...
Anyway (and Dibo I am relying on ya for this one) to the poem or as best we could piece it together..
It was crisis day in Parliament, and the house stood hushed and still
As a member rose with a question, “are we doomed to go downhill?”
“I’m confident of an upturn,” the PM made reply,
“If workers pay is held at bay we’ll all be home and dry”,
“How true how true”, cried the workers, “let’s end this wicked strike,”
“We don’t want a rise in wages, they can stick it where they like,”
“Thank God, thank God,” sobbed the bosses, “there’s faith on the factory floor,”
“And now we have this extra lot, we’ll give it to the poor,”
The stuff their pockets with money, and rushed with eager feet,
Pressing their surplus profits upon the people in the street,
They moved amongst the dole queues, and boarded every bus,
With streaming eyes and heartfelt cries, “You need it more than us,”
Soon the land prospered and the Devil became a Saint,
Now the sober unions had exercised restraint,
And the people were all happy and the sound of laughter spread,
As hand took hand in the Golden Land, and pigs flew overhead.
Then I tho we don't have a thread for things we don't know, well at least I don't think we do... so maybe this could be it ...
Anyway (and Dibo I am relying on ya for this one) to the poem or as best we could piece it together..
It was crisis day in Parliament, and the house stood hushed and still
As a member rose with a question, “are we doomed to go downhill?”
“I’m confident of an upturn,” the PM made reply,
“If workers pay is held at bay we’ll all be home and dry”,
“How true how true”, cried the workers, “let’s end this wicked strike,”
“We don’t want a rise in wages, they can stick it where they like,”
“Thank God, thank God,” sobbed the bosses, “there’s faith on the factory floor,”
“And now we have this extra lot, we’ll give it to the poor,”
The stuff their pockets with money, and rushed with eager feet,
Pressing their surplus profits upon the people in the street,
They moved amongst the dole queues, and boarded every bus,
With streaming eyes and heartfelt cries, “You need it more than us,”
Soon the land prospered and the Devil became a Saint,
Now the sober unions had exercised restraint,
And the people were all happy and the sound of laughter spread,
As hand took hand in the Golden Land, and pigs flew overhead.
