“The Grand Old Dame Brittania”

“The Grand Old Dame Brittania”

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OH, Morrison Terrace, I’m proud of you,

Says the Grand old Dame Brittania;

Your pathway is the envy of the few,

Says the Grand old Dame Brittania.

This path’s been there for eighteen years

Has used us many million tears,

Our tears will soon remove the weirs

Says the Grand old Dame Brittania.

The County Council has a plan,

Says the Grand old Dame Brittania,

To have good paths where’er they can

Says the Grand old Dame Brittania;

For 17 years they have promised a path,

With curb of plush and a centre flat,

Instead we’ve got a bloomin’ mud bath,

Says the Grand old Dame Brittania.

We pay our rates like decent boys

Says the Grand old Dame Brittania,

To keep the mud down from our thighs,

Says the Grand old Dame Brittania;

From numbers 16 to 36,

Come up and see us in a fix;

Try keep our houses clean in nix

Says the Grand old Dame Brittania.

No boost to tell the truth I dare,

Says the Grand old Dame Brittania,

Our rates are paid I do declare,

Says the Grand old Dame Brittania;

Eight thousand pounds we’ve paid to date,

Maybe sure a wee bit late,

Shure a path of gold should be our bait,

Says the Grand old Dame Brittania.

The County Council we did petition

Says the Grand old Dame Brittania,

Was the County Surveyor in moody condition?

Says the Grand old Dame Brittania;

This happened 14 long years ago,

History again consigned to Limbo,

But sure such can’t be akimbo,

Says the Grand old Dame Brittania.

A final appeal to our local reps,

Says the Grand old Dame Brittania,

From far New York to Bonniconlon’s best,

Says the Grand old Dame Brittania;

The “People’s choice” we’re not forgetting,

Ye gods—if they would but stop our fretting,

So give us our path and start the betting,

On those who will our votes be getting,

Says the Grand old Dame Brittania.

                            Born Optimist