Out on Leck Fell, where the cold winds howl
and the shit lies thick from many a bowel,
Cavers roamed free, it was a tradition,
but now, alas, they ask for permission.
Permission is granted by means that are shoddy,
by a fucking politically corrupt body,
that spouts endless bullshit at meetings in pubs,
The Council of Northern Caving Clubs.
But the Pennine were wise to such devious stunts,
and soon squeezed permission from the tight-fisted cunts,
and they sallied forth with pick and with shovel,
and dug a bloody great hole in the bottom of Gavel.
The work paid off, and there to explore
was the finest cave you ever saw.
But there was one thing they overlooked:
by a big Grouse-shoot they were well-nigh fucked.
As the beaters strode with guns and sticks,
frightening the grouse by flashing their pricks,
Lord Shuttleworth stood in his duck-shooting hat,
and the emerging Pennine said; "Who is that twat ?"
"By the stuck up expression upon his face,
You'd think he owned the fucking place."
But replying with curses, some old and some new,
He said to them "I bloody well do !!!"
Car numbers were taken, the owners were sought
and most expected to end up in court.
When the offenders were traced the squire strained a ball,
crying "Who is this cunt Colin Hall ?"
The incident had an interesting sequel
with a committee meeting with barely an equal.
A council member came down to shout.
The Committee listened with tools hanging out.
The member rose to explain the farce,
while the Pennine laid bets on the price of his arse.
"You were all informed." they heard him say
and the stakes were increased to a pound each way.
"We sent you a letter." the feller sighed.
"Well, no cunt was there." the chairman replied,
"Out of date letters are selected at random,
and used to wipe arses, out in our tandem."
Such subtle reasoning filled him with fear,
and he left Greenclose with his arse round his ear.
For squires and council, never to be,
while caving is led by the N.P.C.
by R.M.Thornton ( Black Mike )