The Number Cruncher
I’m your international counter
Keep the population charts
I’m here and there, but have it down to
The very very finest arts
Most days you will find me pillion
Postillion on a fancy plane
And I’ve just clocked up seven billion –
Yes, it’s birthday time again
Some are bombed, and some die slowly
Some are bitten, die of rabies
But I can tell you, by what’s holy
They’re all replaced by brand-new babies
There is far more stork than scythe
Fewer reap than those who sow
Pensioners live longer, lithe
And far more wear the babygro™
Here’s my abacus and beads
What a job! I bear and grin it
Spotting where they’re planting seeds
Counting one born every minute
Lucky that I made Manila
(Narrow envelope of time …)
I must rush from post to pillar
Hearing every new voice chime
Soon they’ll occupy the planet –
Everywhere a squawking gob
Earth cannot support them, can it?
Still, it keeps me in a job
