I’m sure ratepayers everywhere
Are aware of the many dangers
Of the cronyism to be found
At their local Council chambers
They build useless monuments
That will never make a buck
For vanity projects of all kinds
To feed egos run amok
All paid for by the taxpayer
Whilst roads and water are forgot
Common sense does not apply
To spend the rates financial pot
Management consultants say
‘Busloads of tourists will come to see’
But they’ve just made the numbers up
And charged outrageous fees
Ratepayers object but are ignored
We are unsophisticated swine
The council knows much better
How to spend your rates and mine
Behind the scenes you can be sure
Handshake deals are being made
Strings are being pulled
And backhanders being paid
Touted as the next big thing
But a hopeless waste of dough
When it fails the ratepayers cry
…………… ‘I bloody told you so!’
Clinging to sunny Bognors regal
skirts
At his Majesties most royal verges
The readied hand thrusts upon the
lever,
And, shuddering, She forward lurches.
Clanking ominously over diesel fueled
growls,
Expediency, they said, was driven
to ignore:
The raised up objections and anguished
frowns,
And track them under tracked-over
ground.
For by unanimous vote they did smugly
decide,
Albeit tales of backhanders hotly denied,
That poor clymping Parish could no longer
abide
The daily through fare of the popular ride.
So when you next travel upon the new
Bypass
Think of the local residents you no longer
harass;
Dwell on the advantages you formerly
decried,
Whilst ripping through the greenbelt
to the jolly seaside.
Think of their tearooms, and the little
stone bridge,
Think of the old fort just beyond the sharp
ridge;
Think of their gift shops decked out with
festoons,
With bright little trinkets, plates and silver
spoons.
For over and beyond the ancient on-looking
hills
Creeps an old warming wind that carefully
steals:
To gently gather up the wretched mechanical
sounds -
And bear them away above the pale, distant
Downs!