The Pecking Order

Ora Et Labora

I have myself a sterling journey
With a terminus to attain,
As a places-to-go bus driver
A train driver steaming ahead.
A chauffeur in the driving seat,
A real high-flying pilot or
Removals man carrying it off.

I’m a monumental stonemason,
A soaring steeplejack,
The brightest spark electrician
And loftiest of all roofers.
I’m a top drawer chippy carpenter,
A smashing bloody glazier,
A dynamite demolition man.

I’ll be a martyr to my working ethic
With my life course all worked out,
No wandering over heather hills
Or reading bloody books.

I’ll read skies as a five-star astrologer,
Be an out-of-this world astronomer.
I’m a mammoth palaeontologist
And antsy entomologist.
The eager-beaver top dog vet,
Statistician number one
And prime mathematician

I’m the goal-oriented footballer,
And high-reaching basketball star.
The knockout prize fighter
And the vaulting gymnast.
I’m the cricketer bowling you over,
The jockey champing at the bit
And, of course, the odds-on bookie.

An example to all others,
So obviously the best.
Not useless as an idle wind
Or stupid bloody you.

I’m the masseuse tickling you pink,
The radiographer going through all.
A real surgeon costing arms and legs,
A plastic one charging pretty pennies.
I’m the dentist with plenty of bite,
A real kick-ass chiropractor
And an out-of-sight, optician.

I’m the trumpeter who blows his own,
The guitarist who doesn’t fret.
The cellist who pulls the strings,
The booming drummer to beat.
I’m the maestro lead conductor,
A record-breaking radio DJ
And the go-to go-go dancer.

As long as I’m not just me.
As long as I’m not just you.
As long as I look down on you,
From heights of my high salary.

I’m the chef who cuts the mustard,
The bacon-bringing butcher to meet.
The baker that you’ll always need
And unlickable ice cream man.
I’m cream of all the milkmen,
The farmer reaping the harvest,
And cocksure chicken farmer too.

I’m the great guns gung-ho soldier,
The sniper who makes a killing
And his oh-so superior officer.
I’m a titanic able sailor,
A master mariner.
The very first of mates
And shining lighthouse keeper.

And when I’m very old and dead
And they’ve cremated me,
I’ll be burning, burning hot stuff
And then I’ll be… I’ll be….

Divine messenger, heavenly harpist,
Wearing my celestial crown.
I’ll be a saint in heavenly office,
Forever looking down

On you.