How Bert became King

How Bert became King 


Bert he’d been a pilot

And a brave one at that

Flying spitfires in world war 2 

Swatting Huns like nats


Then one day in sunshine 

The ballon went up again

Bert jumped up and hero like 

Ran to his waiting plane


Chocks away they shouted

As his Merlin roared to life

He waved goodbye to his ground crew

Prayed and thought of his wife


In the air the battle raged

The guns they were a blazing

The MesserSchmitt it surprised our Bert

And groundward he went twisting


Time to jump, thought Bert

As he hurtled over the coast

If I don’t get out this burning plane

I fear I might be toast


Sitting like a twisted lump

In some lonely Kentish field

Bert looked down at his mangled legs

Which now he couldn’t feel


Bugger thought Bert , this is it

I’m crippled now, oh fuck

I won’t be able to dig my spuds

Or walk to the dog and duck.


The years they passed and Bert got old

He’s got a super scooter

You can see him zipping round the town

With its spitfire shaped hooter.


The problem was unlike his plane

Which was built in sunny Brum

His scooter came from somewhere else

Which meant is was just Bum


The biggest thing which bugged our Bert

Apart from being disabled

Was the bit the kept on jamming

The accelerator cable.


Then one day to Bert’s surprise

A letter in the post

A Coronation invite

For a hero , that wasn’t toast


Well Bert his chest it swelled with pride

An actual invitation,

Perhaps he’s recognised at last

For a lifetime’s indignation 


So off he went his shoes all shined 

scooter polished to its best

His battery charged , his sandwiches 

And proud medals on his chest


Arriving at the venue ,

Bert was sat in front

Being legless sometimes helped him

And he used it like a trump


Then his Royal Highness comes walking in the Abbey

And noticed Bert and smiled at him

( Bert thought Camilla looked quite shabby )


Then all was hush whilst

the Crown 

Was lifted to head

Then suddenly to Bert’s surprise the moment he’d come to dread


As Bert leaned for a better look

His medals touched the bars

Instantly raced across the floor 

much to his alarm


The accelerators jammed again

He shouted at the King

Who deftly dived on to the floor

As the choir began to sing


Well Bert ended on the throne

As the crown was coming down

And Bert was crowned the rightful King

Much to many frowns


1000 years of History was changed that fateful day 

The British throne ( with Scottish stone ) 

Has now been throne away


And now all Kings in future

Are chosen from the ranks

I. E. those that fly and do some  good

And some that drive the tanks


The throne is now no shoddy bench

That requires a coat of paint

But a shiny golden scooter

And they made our Bert a Saint


All scooters are now made with throttles that are brill

By order of King Bert 

Who now’s retired to Rhyl


So the moral to the story

The end which now has come 

Only ever use a scooter 

That’s made in sunny Brum.




















(Visited 3 times, 1 visits today)