The ballad of Daytime TV (Here Come the Hearse Chasers)
Former coppers, all
Sweaty in Vauxhalls and Fords
Fourth cousins twice removed
Answering doors
Warned by researchers
To look sorry and shocked
For folk never heard of
Until the hearse chaser's knock
An inheritance? How much? Where do I
sign?
And I watch and I wish that the money
was mine
So I could roam car boot sales,
Sifting through trash
Searching for treasures
To flog at auction for cash
I know my Royal Doulton, my Wemyss Ware
and Delft
My Faberge, Wedgewood, but there's so
little left
In charity shops, or in skips or in
attics
Everybody's an expert, everybody's an
addict
Of Bargain Hunt, Put Your Money Where
Your Mouth is
And then there's the question of
investing in houses...
Who are these people, with money to
spend
In hundreds of thousands, or do banks
still lend
To tattooed guys in fleeces with
half-shaven heads
Who buy sad repossessions and the homes
of the dead
Tart them up, sell them on, or just
rent them out
It's all about profit, not a scintilla
of doubt
Ever appears on a presenter's face
As they Escape to the Country
To avoid the disgrace
Of every being reduced to
Price Drop TV
The Jewellery Channel
Or QVC
Where faded celebrities go
Just to keep being in vision
Before finally graduating
To become politicians.
Copyright Tom Morton 2013. All rights reserved.
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