The banker’s lament

Oh Lord, this is no time to be a banker,
The fifteenth storey ledges are all full of them.
Their plight elicits raging wrath and rancour.
The public says it’s time there was a cull of them.
For years they’ve robbed Joe Public willy-nilly,
Now the Government has threatened to weigh anchor.
The fat cats all appear now rather silly,
Their blank expressions lately even blanker.

Oh Lord, this is no time to be a banker,
‘Tis not the same profession they enlisted in.
Well I recall the times I used to hanker
After that whole world that they existed in.
But now the knives are out in ev’ry city,
In Hong Kong, London, Chile and Sri Lanka.
It’s difficult to shed a tear of pity.
Now is not the time to be a banker.

Traffic jam

This road that we’ve been travelling
Twenty years, has been unravelling
And we’ve made a lot of progress in that time.
Revving engines at full power
At a hundred miles an hour,
The ten lane superhighway was sublime.

But now it seems we’re slowing,
We’re unsure where we are going
And the traffic is all coming to a halt.
Like Bob Marley, we are jamming,
There is feck-ing and there’s damn-ing,
As we look around to find out who’s at fault.

Single file now, we are stalling,
Some are beeping, some are crawling,
The Government insists we stay in line.
We badly need frugality –
If we all accept reality,
Then the future, so they say, will turn out fine.

Though my tongue may wax unholy,
I’m not averse to trav’ling slowly,
If everyone’s subscribing to the creed.
But there’s still some selfish drivers
Who conspire to deprive us
As they whistle down the bus lanes at great speed.

If the Gards were out there stopping
All those swine out bus-lane hopping,
At least there’d be a certain satisfaction.
But in fact I’m really furious
That this trend is seen as spurious
And no-one has the will to take strong action.

If we’re all of one accord,
It must be right across the board,
And not reserved for private cars and truckers.
But if the others zoom on by,
Will I stay in line? Not I –
Why should I sit and fume with all the suckers?

At the Ryanair altar

The Ryanair colours of yellow and denim
Continue to garner much braying.
They’re blasted and damned with the vilest of venom
For the add-ons the folk don’t like paying.

There’s charges for baggage and priority boarding,
A host of interminable extras.
The prices seem low but they aren’t that rewarding,
The outstretched palm’s quite ambidextrous.

They claim the restrictions cause ire and thunder
And many a hot, sweaty hairline,
But why do the moaners and whingers, I wonder,
Continue to fly with the airline?