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List members may enjoy Attila the Stockbroker's song on the passing of Mrs Thatcher. Paul F +++++++++++++++++++++ A HELLISH ENCOUNTER The furnaces were roaring With a foul and sulphurous smell The damned were being tortured -- Just another day in Hell. The air was full of ghastly screams And soul-destroying moans When above the dreadful clamour Rose some shrill suburban tones... 'So messy! And so smelly! And so awfully, awfully hot! And all you do is torture – That puts nothing in the pot! I'll close down all your furnaces Your unproductive ways And build a brand new call-centre -- A Purgatory that pays!' The Devil dropped his pitchfork And put on his coat and hat. 'I don't mind facing Jesus But I can’t compete with that!' But the damned and all the goblins Pleaded 'Lucifer, don’t go! Stay and help us in our fight -- Better the Devil that we know!' So they voted him shop steward And he led a demonstration While Thatcher glared and tutted In mad, impotent frustration. Then they made some massive banners In huge letters: 'COAL NOT DOLE!' 'NOT ONE SINGLE FURNACE CLOSURE!' 'GO TO HEAVEN, TORY TROLL!' Now Tomas de Torquemada Held a centuries-old position As editor of Hell's newspaper The Daily Inquisition. So Thatcher went to him and said 'I need some press support. It always does my bidding. Here's some text for your report!' But Tomas said 'Can't help you -- 'Cos, Satan, he's my mate! You know I've served him faithfully Since 1468...' So she yelled upstairs to Murdoch: 'Rupert, time for you to die! I need you down here urgently!' But there was no reply. Then the Devil came in glory Brian Clough at his right hand And in tones to shatter marble He roared: 'Margaret, you are banned! Hell's a worker-run collective Self-sufficient, closely-knit. We don’t need your poxy meddling. I condemn you to the pit! But, first, I’ll reunite you With the one you love the most. He was hiding in the coal-hole. He was dressed up as a ghost. Said he DIDN'T WANT to see you! Said to PLEASE keep him away! But you're here now, aren't you, Denis? Bid your lady wife good day... They were loaded in the lift shaft And soon they were gone from sight And heading for an awful place Of pain and endless night And you're not going to believe this 'Twas such awful, rotten luck -- But half way down the endless pit The Thatchers' lift got stuck... So fight for social justice And build a better world And bury her foul legacy With red banners unfurled And heed the final message Of this cautionary verse Or you could end up like Denis. I can think of nothing worse. ________________________________________________ Send list submissions to: Marxism@greenhouse.economics.utah.edu Set your options at: http://greenhouse.economics.utah.edu/mailman/options/marxism/archive%40mail-archive.com
