(To the tune of: Your baby has gone down the plug-hole)
The bells in the clocktower chimed half past eight
The workers turned up at the factory gate
The building was empty, the gates were all locked
The fork lifts were idle, not shifting the stock,
The lorries stood silent, likewise the machines,
The workers cried, "Bugger! We know what this means!
We've went out of business! Oh, no, not again!
Oh, where are our jobs?" And they sang this refrain:
Your business has gone down the toilet,
Your business has gone down the plug,
The army of crooks who were cooking the books
Should all be banged up down the jug.
Your bosses are in Venezeuela,
They'll never pay back what they stole,
They sent huge amounts to their Swiss bank accounts,
And now you're on the dole.
