Reader’s verse 2

The following fully transferable song can be sung about any SMT member simply by substituting names au choix (“Wilks, huh,” etc.). It should be enjoyed to the driving rhythms of Edwin Starr’s ‘War’.

Spier, huh, yeah
What is he good for?
Absolutely nothing
Spier, huh, yeah
What is he good for?
Absolutely nothing
Say it again, why’all
Spier, huh, good God
What is he good for?
Absolutely nothing, listen to me
Oh, Spier, I despise
‘Cause he means destruction of innocent careers
Spier means tears to thousands of mothers’ eyes
When their sons go to teach
And lose their jobs
I said, Spier, huh, good God, why’all
What is he good for?
Absolutely nothing, say it again
Spier, whoa Lord
What is he good for?
Absolutely nothing, listen to me
He ain’t nothing but a heart-breaker
(Spier) friend only to the Jobcentre
Oh, Spier he’s an enemy to all mankind
The point of Spier blows my mind
Spier has caused unrest
Within the younger generation
Induction then indebtedness
Who wants…
Spier, huh, etc …

(with acknowledgements and apologies to the late Edwin Starr)

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2 Responses to Reader’s verse 2

  1. Muckraker says:

    The Merry Knives of Windsor: A Seasonal Tale for Xmas

    ‘Twas a cold Winter’s day in November, in a House in Olde Kingstone Towne. Ye old King Steven (for it was he) lounged on his shiny new office sofa and surveyed what was left of his rapidly diminishing Kingdom. He rang for his loyal servant, Sir Greysuit Loanalot, who came running quickly up the newly varnished stairwell. ‘Sir Greysuit’, cried the old King, ‘I have devised a cunning plan. Forsooth, let us have our traditional SLT Away-Day in somewhere more grand and majestic, this time fit for Royalty.’ ‘You mean stay in the Borough?’ ‘Nay, nay, you silver-haired fool! Let us hire a Lodge in Great Windsor Park! We can escape the masses and all our messes and make merry. We can invite all our Knights of the £600,000 Table, and all our token lasses, and all our tribe of anonymous Guv’ners, including their Chair’.

    Sir Greysuit frowned worriedly. ‘But that would cost yet more golden dosh, my Sire’. ‘Yes, yes’, cried the old King, ‘much more dosh, but more suitably posh. And who will know?’ ‘But what about the River?’ ‘Never mind the Thames’. ‘No, no, Sire. I mean the River newspaper?’ Sir Steven grew visibly angry. ‘Have you forgotten our secret SLT motto? Confirm nothing, deny everything’.

    The very next morning, as the heavy fog slowly lifted and ye old clouds cleared, Sir Greysuit waved his magic money-tree wand, and a booking suddenly appeared. And then, verily, the big day came. A grand and merry time was had by all, in a Royal Lodge in the Great Park, ‘with a strong reputation for its fine dining’ and ‘luxury en-suite overnight accommodation’ (according to ye advertising scroll). While the big booze flowed, and King Steven glowed, knives were sharpened for yet more ‘efficiency savings’ for his old Kingdom and its Estates. But after the deeds were done, it was time for some fun. Sir Colin and Dame Angela sang some old ditties, while some of the Guv’ners ate more cream cakes, direct from their plates. Former Court Jester Stone was wheeled in for ye olde fireside tales, claiming he had ‘once single-handedly privatized the whole British rail network’. Next on the list, as the guests became p—-d, was failed FASS Dean, Sir Simon Shagalot, who told the good and attentive Knights about his sincere concern for women’s rights, especially lasses in tights. But what was this?? An olde ghost at the feast? A former Knight named McQuilly tried to ambush the throng, but King Steven blocked him off, with a dismissive ‘Be gone!’, supremely confident that a super-deluxe ‘non-disclosure agreement’ (inked by hand on old goat’s parchment) had dealt with the irritating Scottish foe.

    The only Knight to quiver with real fear was Sir Simon, who was once McQuilly’s close peer (the former pair’s dubious past could now ruin his career). King Steven smiled knowingly to himself: ‘Thank God I kept a nice little dossier on both, as one is a fraud and the other’s an oaf’. And off the SLT all went, treading clumsily into the Windsor Park Park’s snowy breeze, safe in the knowledge that their pay packets will never, ever freeze. Merry Xmas, peasants!

  2. Edwin Starr says:

    This is very good! But it deserves a better title than “Readers Verse No. 2”.

    True about the Mother’s tears :-( Why should Spier care about us, when he has a high salary and he can buy a house and live comfortably?! He does not care about anyone else, especially younger people who are struggling to make ends meet, after spending years self funding their education.

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