gappy
Saturday 29th October 2016 2:22pm
Oxford
2,703 posts
The scansion is all over the shop, but I don't have any more time, so...
[There could be some animation with this, if you like - I'm thinking quite simple, like something off Bagpuss - but I don't mind if not. Hey, it's your imagination, use it how you like]
FOLK SINGER:
Now, gather round all good people, and listen to my tale
About a pair of brothers and the things they had for sale.
Their factory, each millisecond, made a firework,
And they sold so many of them that they both could buy a Merc.
The staff all loved the company, they each said, "I'm alright, mate",
From men who packed the saltpetre (for which they got a night rate)
To day workers who laboured hard just to ensure that no man
Could ever claim their candles might look anything but Roman.
The brothers loved their business, felt it always might be great,
Until a little while ago (say 1998),
When the children of this country then began the change their scene,
And got far less fond of Bonfire Night and more of Hallowe'en.
The brothers checked their figures and they noticed something funny,
Said "Why aren't all those little Fawkers giving us their money?"
They pondered on the question, but it didn't prove a toughie:
"It's 'cos children don't learn history, just watch repeats of Buffy".
So the brothers got together and decided to take measures
To regain autumn market share for pyrotechnic pleasures,
To make the greatest firework e'er seen in all the nations,
The best that e'er scared toddlers or shat up pet dalmations.
Now, the elder of the brothers, I believe his name was Stu,
Thought he'd make a mega-Catherine wheel to make the crowd say "ooh",
Whilst his canny younger sibling, whom I think was known as Ray,
Thought if people saw the greatest rocket, "aah" is what they'd say.
They started out just arguing, then they began to fight,
About which from the aah- oohing should be considered right.
They gathered round the workers, and made their case sound nifty,
Till the employees joined a side, exactly fifty-fifty
(I mean, it probably was not that accurate a schism,
But for the purposes of song we'll use this rough division).
Now, Ray he worked his cohort hard, he knew what he was doing,
And he knew he'd never win the war by aiming for the oohing,
And Stu he pushed his workers like the meanest of the tsars,
For he knew his brother didn't know his elbow from his aahs.
Each faction set up bases in some specially built hangars
To create the brightest crossettes and perfect the loudest bangers,
Either side was working so hard just to try to get ahead
That no one even noticed their account was in the red.
The brothers thought this final blow would be their equaliser
Until someone said there was explosive stuff in fertiliser,
So they gathered up their spades to make a bid for victory,
Because if you look hard enough then horse droppings are free.
To make the story short the great conclusion of this battle
Was a pair of giant fireworks stuffed with the poo of cattle.
Firework admirers had arrived from many lands,
But when the blue papers were lit, the shit just hit the fans:
They'd had just enough gunpowder to make the things go boom,
But instead of lovely patterns they just made a dung monsoon.
So many died that night in that dread sewage-fed tsunami
That all of the survivors formed a new and peaceful army.
United they decided the best thing to do by far
Was to show that there is no division between ooh and aah.
To prove there was no rivalry, that mount could not be tanta-er,
An equal-tempered loud "ooh ahh" became their constant mantra.
Because this tragic night had been their humbling soul renewer
They wore old tattered clothing with a strong smell of manure.
Now, there is an ending to this tale, I do not want to force it,
They have loads of ardent followers, who make up most of Dorset.
