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The Ballad of George and Susan

by Susan "Augusta" Berridge Hector
George and Susan went overseas
In a ratty old Pan Am jet.
They took some Durex, and many spondulex,
And thought that all was set.
George looked toward the girl by his side,
And gave her an amorous rub:
‘Oh Dearest Susan! Oh Susan, my bride,
Shall we join the mile-high club?
The club,
The club,
Shall we join the mile-high club? ’

Said Susan to George, ‘You incredible ham!
My freedom you wish to rob;
I’m glad that we’re married, for I you have harried,
But I guess it’s all part of the job. ’
They flew away, for almost a day,
To a land where the rain takes its toll.
And there at Heathrow, their anger did grow
With the dickhead at passport control,
With the dickhead at passport control.

‘Please sir, are you free to issue for me
A visa to enter indefinitely? ’
But he said, ‘Go away, for here you can’t stay,
For who will support you financially?
Over there you must go, to chairs in a row,
With everyone else we’ve rejected,
Six months I will give; in England you may live,
In September you must be ejected!
In September you must be ejected! ’

Defiant I remained, my residency retained
In the land of Mrs. Thatcher’s oppression.
It’s been nearly two years, I’ve realised most of my fears,
To keep myself out of depression.
Employment I found, in the bad end of town,
With a job I really abhorred.
To spud farmers I spoke, incomprehensible folk,
At the potato marketing board.
The board,
The board,
The potato marketing board.

This lasted three week, a new job did I seek,
In the city with gargoyles so scary.
The pay is still poor, but my foot’s in the door
Of the English faculty library.
And here I remain, trying hard to contain
My loathing for students of arts.
I known they’re not bad, but they can drive one mad:
A pack of pretentious little farts!
Little farts!
Little farts!
A pack of pretentious little farts!

I wait for the day when I can earn more pay
Or at least get some job satisfaction.
But until such a time, we will waste every dime
In our quest for fruitless abstraction.
A society I know, who’ve no morals to show,
Keep me and my George in good revelry;
And I’m happy to say, in the company we’ll stay
Of the Oxford Byron society!
Of the Oxford Byron society!