THE GOON SHOW
This poem is really just for us older brits... who can still remember the good old days.
Children of the 'sixtys' old age hippys rule! Happier days..
THE GOON SHOW
Trying to find some humour in this world that seems quite mad
never was a problem when I was a lad.
I used to laugh at lots of things that struck me rather funny
Humour now I cannot find, for simply love nor money
Turning on the tele would always get a laugh
or opening up the daily, for Andy Cap or Scarfe
and Sunday on the radio, Jimmy Clithero raised a smile
Remembering the Goons… Oh! How they beguiled.
When blue was just a colour, worn by Dixon of Dock green
and Clough’s poor dog got shot… Inky’s final scene.
Although you never saw it, inference was enough.
Now it seems we have films, that some call snuff.
When men blacked up their faces and sang a merry tune
And dear old Spike recited poems, he was such a loon
Leonard Sachs would gleefully shout, “for your delectation”
A show from times of old, upon our TV station
Jokes a plenty made us laugh, without the need to swear
When sitting with your children there was no need to fear
Tommy Cooper made us laugh; he did it ‘just like that’
In fact, I only had to see him, standing in his silly hat.
My favourite though was Benny Hill and his little ditties
Hill’s Angels were then quite risqué, showing far more leg
Chasing round and round a field and hiding behind a tree
Remember when that was the naughtiest thing you’d see
Alf Garnet always ranting on, to Cherie's dear old Dad
About the then PM, to his unenlightened lad
“Your Darlin‘ Harold” he used to say, becoming his stock phrase
Than Anthony Booth a daughter, himself began to raise.
The rest they say is history. That brings us up to date
I wish I could find humour, but there isn’t much of late
Cos for now its 'Mrs May' that is calling all the tunes
And her bloomin’ cronies, what a bunch of goons
Sorry Pete, Spike, and Harry, Michael you as well
Its ‘Potty Time’ here on earth, in fact this could hell
Gazing down upon us, as deeper daily we are hurled
It really now is truly, “A mad, mad, mad, mad world”