Posters on signposts at every intersection,
A message to us all, we’re having an election,
The party hacks are busy, posters everywhere,
The independents too are vying for their share.
They’re knocking on our door, we welcome every call,
They ask us for our vote for a seat in the Dáil,
Of course we answer yes, we couldn’t answer no,
We wish them all the best, they smile as they go.
They have us all confused with the promises they make,
Benefits for everyone, a fair share of the cake,
But after the election, they’re just a puff of smoke,
Only then we realise, the exchequer’s nearly broke.
The big boys use the media to promote their case,
Every photo opportunity a chance to show their face,
They shoulder for position in the national debate,
They promise us Utopia if we let them rule the state.
Leaflets in our post box with the candidate’s fisóg,
Some houses out of bounds they keep a wicket dog,
They shake the hand at funerals and every football match,
At gatherings of every sort to see who they can catch.
Now polling day will come and tell another tale,
The contents of the ballot box will signal win or fail,
Every vote is noted, the atmosphere is tense,
As they wait for the results to know who has jumped the fence.
The winners all will celebrate with handshakes, claps and cheers,
While those who didn’t make it are of’t moved to tears,
But fair play to all the candidates, when all is said and done,
They deserve our admiration - for them it wasn’t fun.
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