The system of international barter seems to be on the increase. The latest deal to be effected is that of a quantity of whale oil for a new dock. Exchanges even more incongruous may follow.
Now, since man became a martyr To this economic stress, He has sought relief, in barter, From financial wretchedness; So, dispensing with the banker, If you've aught to trade at all, Any thing for which you hanker, From a needle to an anchor, From a slipway to a spanker, Is at call. So, now, what have you to proffer? Make an offer! Make an offer! Here's a punting gent prepared to make a deal; He'll exchange a betting system (All the winners, never missed 'em), For a pair of boots -- size seven -- and a meal. Here's a trusted politician, Giving up his great position. (Voters vacillate so shamefully alas!) And he'll take a steady billet -- Confident that he can fill it -- For a pile of Hansards and one nice gold pass. Here's a motorist who lately, Slightly sozzled, bent on fun, Somewhat prone, unfortunately, To the game of hit and run, Just involved in a disaster, Swop one bent car, arted high, Simplest in the world to master (Eighty m.p.h., or faster), For a roll of sticking plaster And a good, safe alibi. Now then, what have you to proffer? Make an offer -- any offer! A poet (licensed) offers here a chance: Ten Centenary effusions, Odes, one set of young illusions For a top-coat and a pair of unpatched pants. Here's a City Council willing To accept some concrete filling, Headache powders, and a quantity of bricks, For some fancy flags (all nations) Sundry faded decorations And a great, big blithering pile of lollysticks.
|Copyright © Perry Middlemiss 2003-06|