THE BALLAD OF A RIGHT CHARLIE! (Poem)

THE BALLAD OF A RIGHT CHARLIE!

(25/10/13 Buckingham Palace denies that

Prince Charles is dreading becoming King.)

When at my Coronation I’m,

Anointed as your King;                   

I’m going to be an idle fop,

And not do anything.                     

I’m going to lay down the law,

That it’s my Royal right;

To do sweet f.a. every day,

And even less at night!

Because whilst I’m the Royal Heir,

I still have to pretend;

That I am quite industrious,

And thus have to attend, 

A few engagements quite nearby,

That are a frightful drag;

Believe me that unveiling loos,

Is really not my bag!

It’s claimed that my engagements fill,

Each day of every year;

Because all my advisors say,

It really must appear,

That I be seen by everyone,

As a hard-working guy;

Although, as I’ve admitted here,

Most visits are close by. 

I’ll spend ten minutes opening,

A factory making glue;

And then ten minutes looking thrilled,

At the adjacent two,

That counts as three engagements on,

My own Press Agent’s score;

At most less than an hour’s work,

Oh crikey! What a bore!

I’ll then retire to change my clothes,

Including a fresh truss;

And then go shooting Geese or Grice, ⁽¹⁾

With Daddy’s blunderbuss.

To demonstrate to all on Earth,

How those of noble mien;

Are mean enough to thus pretend,

Their fowl play’s always Green!

The Earth’s Environmental health,

Is my sole job to save;

From my own Carbon Footprints ‘til,

I reach my Abbey grave.

‘Cause being most important means,

I need not justify;

My usage of the Royal Train,

Or when I choose to fly.

Conspicuous consumption is,

Without a single doubt;

The greatest evil on this Earth,

But please don’t kick me out!

I talk to flowers every day,

And try and do my bit;

I play sweet music to my plants,

Oh dear! I am a twit!

I’ll save the world from Devil’s Veg.,

(Those beastly GM crops!)                            

So I instruct my Nanny when,

She cycles to the shops, 

To buy the best organic food,

Which I know isn’t cheap;

But quite unlike you load of mugs,

I don’t pay for my keep!  

     

The reason I first introduced,

And launched the Prince’s Trust;

Was to help spotty yobs like you,

To earn a measly crust.

The British Monarchy is like,

My private charity;

It’s helping spotty yobs like you,

Keep dotty nobs like me!

When I am crowned as your new King,

I’ll occupy Buck Hice; ⁽¹⁾

(Received Pronunciation is,

So jolly twee and nice!)

My speeches will be well-received,

By all the likes of you;

My subjects, who I subject to,

Some subjects quite taboo. ⁽²⁾

For when I am your well-loved King,

I will be speaking out;

On all those many topics that,

I know naff-all about! 

For as ‘Defender of the Faith’, ⁽³⁾

It’s my first job to try;

To set your moral compasses,

To that pie in the sky!

I’m qualified to speak upon,

The woes of normal life;

As now I am a Pensioner ⁽⁴⁾

I suffer real-life strife,

Can you believe my Butler Jeeves,

Confessed last week to me;

That he’d mislaid the Crumpet Cakes,

And ruined Birthday Tea! ⁽⁴⁾

As Heir I earned the O.M. gong, ⁽⁴⁾

Because I took on board;

The field of Homeopathy,

Which like faith’s not a fraud.

In fact I’ve rows of medals from,

Both peacetime and from war;

For courage and for bravery,

They stack up by the score.

I’ve uniforms with so much gilt,

They almost drip with yolk;

With golden epaulettes and braid,

To emphasise the joke. 

Yes I’ll admit this poppycock,

Appears as somewhat trite;

But all this ritual masks the fact,

That I’m a parasite!

When I am crowned I will enjoy,

A huge excess of bling;

My toothpaste squeezed by C.P-B., 

Meet for a brand new King!

But as I’ve now reached Sixty-Five, ⁽³⁾

It’s getting a bit late;

Oh! Mummy, Mummy, hurry-up,

And say you’ll abdicate!     

⁽¹⁾ Royal ‘Received Pronunciation’ for Grouse and House.

⁽²⁾ Charles is noted for meddling in others affairs.

⁽³⁾ Or “Defender of Faiths”.

⁽⁴⁾ 14/11/2013: Charles was 65.

⁽⁵⁾ Order of Merit.

© Richard Layton