THE VERGER AND THE MAGISTRATE
Nowadays I am one rung down from the fucking angels. But I was not always so. A re-post.
I moan these days about youngsters -
The chavs and the scuzzies and thugs;
Their swearing and gobbing and ASBOs -
Their smoking and drinking and drugs.
But I recollect I was no angel
And partial to that Special Brew
And me and my mate have knocked teeth out
And pissed in a doorway or two.
But I’m sure that time in the 80’s
When we got banged up in a cell
We never thought that years later
We’d have this story to tell.
Cos it’s hard to see into your future
And no doubt we’d drunkenly scoff
That he’d end up as a Lawman
And I’d be a man of the cloth.