Here come the bubbling scum,
Out from Foskett's Alloys,
There goes a dollop of something brown,
Down from Gribling's Mills.
My little boy's got covered in boils,
My little dog's gone bald,
Ho hum, humpidy hum,
All the ducks is dead.
This was published in 'Punch' back in the nineteen sixties, and was written about the time that everyone was getting a bit fed up with pollution, and sterile rivers etc.
Alan Coren called it something like 'Contamination Lament', and, after several pints, (quite a few actually), my chums and I used to sing it to a hastily made-up tune, which still lingers today...
If anyone has a copy of 'Punch' from back then, I'd love to see how the words have stuck!
