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Re: Our Town??
“CARRY ON” ACCRINGTON
AN ODE TO A COUNCIL
Accrington born, bread, educated and employed!!
Accrington lived and mostly enjoyed,
Is it me, am I alone?
Too much has changed,
So please hear my moan.
To observe the Observer and read all about it,
A cover of headlines, you don’t really doubt it,
With horror and murder a too regular topic,
It’s difficult to know just how you can stop it.
My streets are patrolled by community wardens,
There’s too many “bad un’s” with too many pardons,
Why don’t I feel safe while walking at night?
On pavements too vacant and with too little light.
With hours that fit in with your average criminal,
The police station is manned to the ultimate minimal,
A police station that’s open office hours only,
“That” gives security to the week and the lonely.
A town that is dying from lack of a vision,
A council bereft of a useful decision,
The face of the leader so often a picture,
An increase in expenses making them richer.
A centre so full of charity and food,
A people neglected “it’s a horrible mood”
“Business is booming” we’re told with a glee,
Come shop in Accrington, parking is free.
My rubbish I sort into boxes and bags,
My bottles and cans, my paper and mags,
Recycle recycle it tops up the cash,
It doesn’t make money that goes in the stash.
Come to Accrington to fly tip your waste,
From all around Britain come here with haste,
Your half ton of tyres your bricks and your rubble,
But overfill your bin and then your in trouble.
More and more my council tax soars,
To pay for the things the council adores,
New markets new Broadway (the third in my life)
Hospital and care homes slashed by the knife.
More in tax this council demands,
More money for services out of our hands,
Yet closures and cut backs always appear,
How much MORE does it cost to run less than last year?
And now I read “Mr Britcliffe “wants more,
Another forty five pounds per household “what for”
More wardens and flowers to brighten up the town
It’s not only burgers that are served by a clown.
The night life has left here for pastures new,
A ghost town exists, except for the few,
With prices inflated to pay for the car,
And no change from notes passed over the bar.
So Accrington born and Accrington bred,
And Accrington I’ll be until I am dead,
If you had half the pride in the place that we live,
You would care for the people and learn how to give….
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