THE CUNNING VENDING MACHINE
by
Pam Ayres

I am a cunnin' vending machine lurkin' in the hall
So you can't kick me delicate parts I'm bolted to the wall.
Come on, drop in your money, don't let's hang about,
I'll do my level best to see you don't get nothing out.

I sees you all approachin', the fagless and the dry,
All fumblin' in your pockets and expectant in the eye.
I might be in your place of work, or on the High Street wall,
Trust in me, in theory, I cater for you all.

Within these windows I provide for every human state,
Hunger, night starvation, and remembering birthdays late.
Just read the information, pop the money in - that's grand,
And I'll see nothing ever drops down in your hand.

I might be in your swimming bath, and you'd come cold and wet,
With a shilling in your hand, some hot soup for to get.

  And as you stand in wet anticipation for a sup,
I will dispense the soup, but I will not dispense the cup.

And then it's all-out war, because you lost your half-a-nicker.
Mighty kicks and blows with bricks will make me neon flicker.
But if you bash me up, so I'm removed, me pipes run dry,
There's no way you can win, I'll send me brother by and by.

Once there was friendly ladies, years and years before,
Who stood with giant teapots saying, "What can I do you for?"
They'd hand you all the proper change, and pour your cup of tea,
But they're not economic so.. hard luck! You're stuck with me.


Continue Return