The Dying Railway Commissioner

The Railway Commissioner lay dying,
Portfolio supporting his head,
His secretaries round him were crying,
When he leaned on his elbow and said....

Wrap me up in my doubletalk and bullshit,
And bury me deep down below,
Where my scabs and the unions can’t reach me,
And the wage claims can no longer grow.

Oh, had I the sense of a dodo,
I’d cut all the wages by half,
Then fly to Bermuda or Rio,
And then as I die, I would laugh.

There’s port in the cut-glass decanter,
Now fill the wine glasses well,
And we’ll drink to my next council meeting
With the devil, and his mob, in hell.

Old Nick has now come to transport me
In his XPT down the black hole,
Cause I tried to sack 2,000 workers,
Whose families would starve on the dole.


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