There used to be a cottage here,
So very quaint, so very dear,
Then along came Mr Mark McCord
Who knew that he could well afford
To build a luxury six bed house
For his upwardly mobile spouse,
And for his offspring too, I'm sure,
The sort of place that they'd adore.
But it's certain, I would say,
He wanted it also, come what may.
With snooker room and saloon bar,
Garage space for sporty car,
Sauna room for daughter Gemma
(Although she's never used it ever)
With whirlpool jacuzzi in the back,
A special gift for her brother Zack.
It's fairly clear he intends to stay
And that's why they're still here today,
But it's so very hard for him
To become a villager and fit in.
He's moved up well has Mark McCord
(He's also got his place abroad),
From humble start as builder's mate
To stocks and shares and real estate.
But though he's got his wage to burn
He's still an awful lot to learn
On settling in with village life
And thus avoid himself some strife.
It's all very well for Mark McCord
To live the life of a local lord
But the locals find it rather alarming
His security fence with electric wiring,
The flood lights hung from every porch,
His garden lit by sensor torch,
The concrete dogs at either gate,
The real Great Danes that lie in wait,
His four wheel drives and motor boat
Are all the things the locals note,
They really don't mind new people around
But please don't make their village a town.
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