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There was a Taoiseach, quite bad,
Who told us one day we were mad,
That we borrowed too much,
And with reality had lost touch,
I say it is he, not us, who is MAD.
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HE THOUGHT HE SAW
He thought he saw a politician,
Who lived the perfect life,
He looked again, and saw it was,
A huge, humongous lie.
That’s it, he said, I realise,
The foolishness of life.
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He thought he saw an honest man,
Within the parliament,
He looked again, and saw it was,
Another bloated blimp.
Unless they leave this house, he said,
There will be no hope, I think.
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He thought he saw a banker man,
Who made an honest buck,
He looked again, and saw he was,
Entwined in all the muck.
If I were king, he said,
His head would be on the block.
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He thought he saw a banker’s clerk,
A man of honest youth,
He looked again, and saw he was,
A succubus forsooth.
If he should stay, he said, for sure,
My savings I will lose.
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He thought he saw a kangaroo,
Hopping down the street one day,
He looked again, and saw it was,
A banker’s ill gained pay.
Were I to accept this, he said,
It would be a dark, dark day.
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He though he saw a limousine,
With groom and bride, so sweet,
He looked again, and saw it was,
The country on its knees.
We’re lost, he said, the country’s bust,
Kaput, no more, deceased.
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He though he saw a shaft of light,
That shone through all this gloom,
He looked again, and saw it was,
The cold, reflected moon.
If I were young, he said aloud,
I’d make them swing – and soon!
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He though he saw a chink of light,
A way from all this mess,
He looked again, and saw it was,
Their New World Order – yes!
Their ways are bad, corrupt, he said
For them, not us, excess.
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He thought he saw the final words,
Inscribed upon a sheet,
He looked again, and saw it was,
Them sweating from the heat.
They thought us fools, he sorely said,
Come on, we’ve lives to lead.
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When I am out driving my car,
I love my car; it’s a fine old car,
I watch the road ahead,
The road ahead, for potholes ahead,
You see, I’m driving in Ireland,
A pothole place – a dangerous place!
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When I was out walking the street,
On my two feet, my own two feet,
I fell into a pothole big,
Very big – extremely big,
It broke my face, my poor old face,
It’s a shocking disgrace!
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I wrote to the Council,
And told them this, that I hurt myself,
In a pothole big – extremely big,
They said me, poor old me,
They would sell me the stuff,
The stuff, the pothole stuff,
So I could fill the pothole,
That giant big potholes
FOR THEM.
It’s a funny old world, isn’t it?
The Crazymad Writer Writes Again 