Security
By Baz Cann
A question of security has shown itself once more to me,
As plaintively there came a cry, a call of help to render.
So off I go with all due speed, and certain cat-like alacrity
To give assistance where I can, to folk of the other gender.
And find that I've wasted my time, but not that I complain,
'Cos if it happens every time, I'd respond just the same.
For when I make my prescence known, no police there again,
It really makes you wonder if the world's blooming insane.
A calming influence I give to honest working folk,
Upset by thieves and drug addicts who think the law's an ass.
While Law protects the criminals, 'tis naught but one great joke,
As they cheerfully go from day to day, this is so flaming crass !
So when the dust has settled, and all have said their lot,
And made their homeward departures, there's nothing to do more,
I think the day has done it's worst, but find that it has not!
For on my rapid departure, my son has locked the door !
Not by the normal method, of locking it by key,
But by internal Chubb locks, it's secure, there's no doubt,
I knock and call to him in vain, but he does not hear me,
As happens, he's just fast asleep, he's well out for the count !
We call his name, we knock the door, but there is no reply,
And try in vain by knock and name to raise that flipping youth
Within the house we wish to go, the minutes passing by.
But all we get is quietness, Gawd blimey, heaven, strewth.
The noise we are creating is enough to wake the dead,
The folk next door are wide awake, and giving us what for.
From next door neighbour's windows appears a very haggard head,
We swear that when we get inside, we'll give the lad some more !
We try the phone to tell him, that we wish to come in,
But gelignite won't raise him, he's still totally unaware,
We pummel on the doors and walls, and then we just give in.
There is a situation, and it's happening right here.
And then comes inspiration, a ladder then is sought,
A workmate and a ladder are dutifully despatched,
And by the means of recovery truck the ladder do be brought.
Then in a quiet conflab, a plan is carefully hatched.
There's just one point of entry, it's just above your head,
If you find our wee problem, please tell him of our joy,
And when one gets inside there, climb down using the bed,
And jump upon the head of the one that we call "boy".
A half an hour passes with one man stuck in a window,
Before he disappears inside with a sudden awful rush,
I hope that the way is all clear sailing from here now,
Without a solitary single toy suffering a crush.
The front door hence is opened wide for us to gain an access,
Fags and a drink to celebrate the success of our plan,
Our thanks to him are manyfold, this much we must confess,
To P.C., who's our hero; another recovery man.
