It's A Lottery
It isn't a question of numbers;
It isn't a matter of chance:
If you go to the till,
You are footing the bill
For a season of classical dance.
It isn't a moment of magic;
It doesn't add up to a lot:
When you flip them a quid,
You are making your bid
To protect all our castles from rot.
It can't be a genuine gamble;
It won't be incredible luck:
When you pay through your nose,
You'll be pampering those
Who are minting their brass in your muck.
It isn't an innocent flutter;
It won't be a desperate throw -
For Noel and Cilla
With flannel or filla
Are out for your count on their show.
You might get a whiff of the boodle,
You may see a star in the sky,
But when you get back
To your personal sack,
Double-check that your cardboard is dry.