The Man In Black
©
Author:
The Man In Black

He stood there like a statue, seemed to dare us all to breathe
We could check in any time we liked, but only he could leave
As he strolled the desert highway (well the A31 in Dorset)
With his cowboy hat, some black jeans and a kinky leather corset

“Where is Charles?” he darkly mutters, spittle coursing from his gob
“I am fed up with accounting and I want another job
This is not a mid-life crisis, no, the time for that’s long gone
But I want to hit the big time before I am sixty one

Wimborne’s much too small for me, I want my name in lights
It’s alright for Shaz in London she has access to the sights
cos if I’m destined to be famous, and it won’t be before time
well it better hurry up cos I’m no longer fifty nine

I want limos, groupies, stardom and a record deal as well
The dentures, zimmer frames and rocking chairs can go to hell
I deserve to be dead famous, it could happen any day
but this half of the Men In Black is quickly going grey”

So if you are out in Dorset in November, please take heed
Should you come across a man in black astride a coal black steed
You should get inside the Cricketers, it’s by far the safest place
Cos I tell you now this man in black will not grow old with grace.