Do anyone of you remember the political songs of the 60's in UK.
The words of some like this one stuck for some reason.
Last night I had a horrible dream, they nationalised my football team,
Promotion hopes have ceased to gleam I'll tell you all about it.
The sides were picked by an area board, three ministry men and an old live lord,
The fans yelled up "put em all to the sword, we ain't won a match since September".
The forward line, were working to rule said the defence got too much of the pool,
And the goalkeeper well he's a bit of a fool and the treasury's got no reserves sir.
You'd to fill out a form to get a new ball, although the old one was no good at all,
They come from a depot outside Porthcawl, and the store mans gone on strike sir.
Have you heard of Harold Wilson he's the one who carries the stick,
and all the others follow him he's beating like old Vic,
And if you look round the orchestra it isn't hard to tell,
The oboe and the piccolo he's playing them as well.
The horn the flute the guitar and the viola,
each and every one of them he's playing quite a treat,
the strings by jings he can pluck and he can tickelo,
He's drumming with his elbows in a lovely Mersey beat, yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah.
With the pimples on the dimples and the little scotch lapels,
his pipe is puffing signals but they have a funny smell,
He thinks his lovely one man band is going to ring the bell,
Is he the one your going to vote for is he?......is he hell.
We're four jolly Labour men all jumping with glee,
We're George Brown Jim Callaghan, Dick Crossman and me,
Curtailing your liberty and taxing your wealth,
Meaning George Brown Jim Callaghan Dick Crossman and self.
When you we're a little boy and you had to fight,
You soon learned the difference between left and right,
But when you're a labour man it's hard to recognise,
As the left right and centre parts all march in single file.
We have some good policies for spending your pence,
We all sing in harmony except on defence,
Some say to stay nuclear would make us too poor,
Meaning George Brown Jim Callaghan, but the rest ain't so sure.
We're three jolly labour men all jumping with glee,
George Brown Jim Callaghan Dick Crossman and me,
We're three jolly labour men, three jolly labour men we are,
But make me Prime Minister and then ha ha ha.
Gone are the days when my heart was young and gay,
Gone are the days, that like Gladstone I'd hold sway,
Two armies march, but to both of them I'm foe,
I hear the Liberals faint hearts murmur Poor Old Joe.
Why do I weep, well the answers pretty plain,
Whoever wins, I'll still be down the drain,
But I hope to hear anguished Tory cries of woe,
Another seat for Labour won by Poor Old Joe.