All the mailmen, all the sorters, and the House of Commons porters,
they are searching high and low
saying “Prescott where is Prescott for unless he’s an investor,
then our busy day is surely a no-go.”
At oh-six-forty-two, when the rush is nearly due,
all the people are digesting traffic jam,
then Prescott will appear, pair of Jaguars to his rear,
he’s been busy, on the spin, and such flim-flam!
He’ll give one sentence of a parliamentary answer,
then all the MPs scatter, wait for the all-clear;
and so he’s off at last for the longest, longest part
of a speech he wrote, no outside help ! (So cheer !)
You may say that by and large it is Prescott who’s in charge
of the Creeping Cars Expressway;
from the farmer and the trucker, any driving mother-lover
he’ll paralyze them all, while pumping them for more tax they’ve to pay;
Down the motorway he races, all those little lives he graces,
of the mot’rists who’re stuck in first and third;
he’s established full control by his camera patrol
and he’d know at once if banned movement occurred !
He will watch without approving, lest he should see you moving;
and it is quite certain that he does not approve
of even a flattened toad who might want to use the road
when Two-Jags Prescott is the only one to move !
You just can’t try it on, with this man Prescott John
should you want to argy-barge
for nothing’s on the move on this small northern isle
when Prescott John’s transported to “in charge” !
Alan McAlpine Douglas
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- May 6, 2010 at 14:49