And may I say at once, without further ado
How nice it is to speak to each and every one of you.
No matter where you all may be, on land or sea or foam,
Whether climbing up Mount Everest or kicking about at home,
I broadcast to you all tonight on BBC TV
To tell you of the creation of a brand new ministry.
It’s Margaret Thatcher’s brainchild, this. Our venerable
I’ll tell you, if you’ll all pin back your oral orifices.
Last Friday week, I left the House of Commons, just on eight,
The wife was out at bingo, so I knew that she’d be late.
I popped into the local, I was feeling rather frail.
And there stood Maggie Thatcher with her foot upon the rail.
“What are you having, Jack?” she cried, her beady eyes
“I’ll have a pint of mild,” I said. She said, “I’ll have the same.”
Well, seventeen pints later (God, how that girl can booze!)
We sat on the embankment, and she came out with the news.
“For many years,” she mumbled, as she munched the crisps I’d bought her,
And tidily folding up the bag and chucking it in the water,
“For many years, I’ve longed to see this ancient land of ours
Return to former glories and the pubs to longer hours.
I covered her with newspaper, and left her on the grass
Looking every inch a lady and completely upper class,
In a powder blue ensemble with her hair all freshly done,
And across her chest, another chest from page three of The Sun.
And that is how the ministry was created overnight,
And now it’s up to you, my friends, to see you do it right.
Pray, have no fear, the task is not as hard as it might sound
For inside of every Englishman, good English rhymes abound!
And each of you has, at some time I’m sure, as have we all,
Inscribed a simple stanza on some bygone wash house wall.
So, off you go, and don’t forget, just like the old graffiti,
Keep it short and keep it snappy. Keep it fruity, keep it meaty.
The world can be a better place, if each man does his
To choose his rhymes to match the times, so get it off your chest.
Beneath the old stiff upper lip, the ancient fire still flickers,
Come fan the flames, and let us get the lead out of our knickers.
Press onward England, do your best, revive our former glories