A Parkie's a bloke who with undaunted vim Is convinced that a van park is suited for him With freedom and lifestyle a saint would inspire Just buy up a park, collect dough. ...and retire! There's fishing and chatting to fill up the day And kind smiling tourists who drop in and pay.
So he buys up a park to get in on the lerk The old bloke who sold is an absolute jerk To pass up this Eden, this God's paradise, It's plain that the fellow could use some advice But its strange that at 40 he seems old and grey And he carries a waddy to keep people at bay But then there are some who just go that way And of course, that won't happen to him.
In a short space of time, as the facts quickly dawn That the jerk's off the hook and now he is the prawn His fishing's confined to what's flushed down the sink And he grovels in sewers to locate the stink And the fish in the garbage have started to pong And it slowly sinks in that in fact he's been wrong It's just work and more work to maintain the place And in truth he now doubts be can keep up the pace The tourists don't smile, they grumb1e and frown And remove anything that he hasn't chained down But of poets and artists he gets quite a few For they practice their art on the doors of the loo And in truth they are surely a curious breed... When it comes to instructions they simply can't read Can this really be happening to him?
His wife's going to leave if things don't get better Since she does half the work he simply can't let her That night he will charm her.. it's going real beaut When the silence is marred by a drunken dispute He makes off to quell it for peace he must keep When he finally returns, alas she's asleep He lovingly wakes her, again all is well What's that? Oh my god, some clot's pressed the night bell Next time for his trouble she snarls, "Go to hell" Oh! It just shouldn't happen to him!
So they both stagger on as the dream slowly dies And each day that dawns brings a nasty surprise So she buys him a waddy and notes grey in his hair And settles to live in his world of despair Till another young hopeful arrives on the scene With his wallet a-bulging and chasing a dream And his mind full of visions and fancies galore He buys.. and the story's enacted once more And, of course, it will happen to him.
Unless he has staff who will take on the work He will surely end up as the previous jerk And so it's essential to not compromise But to take careful note of the happier guys Who don't run their parks without other folk's help Else he'll surely end up like on old piece of kelp Just waving around in a sea of despair Removing great tufts of the rest of his hair.
An Ode to the 'Parkie'
A Parkie's a bloke who with undaunted vim
Is convinced that a van park is suited for him
With freedom and lifestyle a saint would inspire
Just buy up a park, collect dough. ...and retire!
There's fishing and chatting to fill up the day
And kind smiling tourists who drop in and pay.
So he buys up a park to get in on the lerk
The old bloke who sold is an absolute jerk
To pass up this Eden, this God's paradise,
It's plain that the fellow could use some advice
But its strange that at 40 he seems old and grey
And he carries a waddy to keep people at bay
But then there are some who just go that way
And of course, that won't happen to him.
In a short space of time, as the facts quickly dawn
That the jerk's off the hook and now he is the prawn
His fishing's confined to what's flushed down the sink
And he grovels in sewers to locate the stink
And the fish in the garbage have started to pong
And it slowly sinks in that in fact he's been wrong
It's just work and more work to maintain the place
And in truth he now doubts be can keep up the pace
The tourists don't smile, they grumb1e and frown
And remove anything that he hasn't chained down
But of poets and artists he gets quite a few
For they practice their art on the doors of the loo
And in truth they are surely a curious breed...
When it comes to instructions they simply can't read
Can this really be happening to him?
His wife's going to leave if things don't get better
Since she does half the work he simply can't let her
That night he will charm her.. it's going real beaut
When the silence is marred by a drunken dispute
He makes off to quell it for peace he must keep
When he finally returns, alas she's asleep
He lovingly wakes her, again all is well
What's that? Oh my god, some clot's pressed the night bell
Next time for his trouble she snarls, "Go to hell"
Oh! It just shouldn't happen to him!
So they both stagger on as the dream slowly dies
And each day that dawns brings a nasty surprise
So she buys him a waddy and notes grey in his hair
And settles to live in his world of despair
Till another young hopeful arrives on the scene
With his wallet a-bulging and chasing a dream
And his mind full of visions and fancies galore
He buys.. and the story's enacted once more
And, of course, it will happen to him.
Unless he has staff who will take on the work
He will surely end up as the previous jerk
And so it's essential to not compromise
But to take careful note of the happier guys
Who don't run their parks without other folk's help
Else he'll surely end up like on old piece of kelp
Just waving around in a sea of despair
Removing great tufts of the rest of his hair.