When teacher talks he won’t hear a word And he shoots down dead the arithmetic-bird, He licks the patterns off his plate And he’s not even heard of the Welfare State.
Timothy Winters has bloody feet And he lives in a house on Suez Street, He sleeps in a sack on the kitchen floor And they say there aren’t boys like him any more.
Old Man Winters likes his beer And his missus ran off with a bombardier, Grandma sits in the grate with a gin And Timothy’s dosed with an aspirin.
The Welfare Worker lies awake But the law’s as tricky as a ten-foot snake, So Timothy Winters drinks his cup And slowly goes on growing up.
At Morning Prayers the Master helves For children less fortunate than ourselves, And the loudest response in the room is when Timothy Winters roars ‘Amen!’
So come one angel, come on ten: Timothy Winters says ‘Amen Amen amen amen amen.’ Timothy Winters, Lord.
