There'll be no more jokes or mock salutes. For the brown dust coat and combat boots. There'll be no more flob in the hair. Of the man whose job was taking care. Of keeping out the rain and cold. Changing soap and toilet rolls Stacking tables, stacking chairs. And all essential school repairs Who's going to take care of the caretaker. When his employment contract has expired. Who's going to take care of the caretaker. At the end of the next term when he retires And hands his brown dustcoat and keys. His tennis elbows and housemaids' knees, his lucky broom and time alone. To the new pretender to his throne. There'll be no radiators to bleed. When he's retired there'll be no need. For a caretaker stuck at home. In sheltered housing that has its own
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There'll be no more dustbins up in flames. Chewing gum or blocked up drains. Broken light bulbs, doors that stick. Sawdust thrown on pools of sick
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