Song of the Ofsted Inspectors

No point in crying, you know why we’re here.

Saw the league tables, smelled blood, descended.

You’re on our list; we can wreck your career.

 

Don’t try to fool us; we’ve been heads, too.

Educating the underclass? A thankless task.

We got out in time, saw which way the wind blew.

 

Up all night, checking figures? No matter.

We make facts fit, the one thing we’re good at.

They all add up, to match the agenda.

 

The rulers are restless. Times change.

Last year’s ‘outstanding’ is this year’s ‘good.’

Last year’s ‘good’, we’re afraid, is a ‘fail.’ 

 

Forget paperwork, we’ve all the answers.

We know you’re coasting before we arrive:

it’s the new word in the minds of our masters.

 

A cheerful staffroom? Think you’re a success?

We’ll take you down a peg or two.

Then splash our findings in the local press.

 

You know the best thing? No second chances,

no hope of appealing against our verdicts.

We know the truth behind those happy, smling faces.