In darkened alleys
And streets foreboding
They lie in wait
For Lorries unloading.
With yellow lines
Around their cap
They don’t half talk
A lot of crap.
You can’t park here
Upon these lines
Otherwise you’ll have to pay
A lot of fines.
To which the lorry driver replied
Under his breath
If you don’t scarper
There will be a death.
The traffic warden held his ground
The lorry driver made no sound
But became increasingly thrilled
When the traffic warden fell into a hole.
Which was about to be filled
The traffic warden certainly did swear
Waving his cap high up in the air
The tarmac then filled where the hole had been.
And when you looked all that could be seen
Was a little scrawny hand
Holding a hat
With a bright yellow band.
