Flunkies in cloud-wigs and the greeny light
Of the Boardroom of the Death Star Line.
The Board - ensconced behind their horseshoe desk
Wearing straw bowlers, Old Estonian ties,
Pith suits and floral clock frocks,
Yes, Admirals of the BBC and Third World War Generals,
All the great and good octopuses of our time -
Stared down at him -
Spike, astride his golden bike.
They intravenously interviewed him,
Gave him the nth degree,
Extracted his heart and booted it round the room,
Took pot-shots at his brain with their 12-bored shit-guns,
Located the gentle jungle of his imagination
And zapped it with vintage napalm.
Spike simply clicked the heels of his Irish boots
And suffered and smiled and saluted
And when they said: You're Spike Milligan!
Answered: I know I am.
Now go and find out who you are.
Finally they gave him the job he wanted -
One-man band on Deck Z of TITANIC TWO -
Deck Z where the hopeless cases go,
Too poor to be peasants, too crazy to be insane,
The underbelly of the underclass
(Few of them claiming to be human beings).
Then Spike fitted cymbals to his inner knees,
Wired up a thumper of a drumkit to his heart,
A Piaf-tragic accordion to his lungs.
He welded a black trumpet to his gob,
Strung a Steinway across his shoulders,
Hung church bells on his ballocks and strapped to his bum
A Michaelangelo whoopee cushion.
Titanic Two was launched, as everyone knows,
And flaunted her way half-way across the ocean.
Way down on the rusty floor of Deck Z
Spike danced to his own wheezy, wonderful music
And the delinquent denizens of Z
Began to dance the Gorilla Gavotte,
The Billy-Goat Bump and the Zebra Zonk.
O then the bowels of Titanic Two began to shake
In the powerful grip of such musical Vindaloo ...
And there was a pop of a million rivets
And the steel walls flopped apart
And the waters came down
Like the wolf on the foldable ocean liner.
And yea, the inhabitants of Deck A,
Even the King of the World, James Cameron
And the Emperor of the Ether, John Birt
And all the other passengers and Oscars,
On A and every other deck from B to Y,
They went down gurgling to the green
And very photogenic bottom of the sea.
So how did Spike and the Deck Z creatures escape?
Instead of going down to Davy Jones
Playing Nearer My Dog To Thee,
Spike stripped off the bands of his one-man bandinage,
He brake that grand piano into planks,
Lashed them across the drums
And made a Giant Raft for his Deck Z friends.
They sailed away, powered by the whoopee cushion,
To land upon a penguin-happy iceberg,
Very well-stocked with Italian food, French wine
And copies of the Beano.
That crew shall sail the eighty seas
Until Spike cracks a joke so hot
That his iceberg guffaws and melts away
While all of us who love him sing in happy harmony:
O Milligan, sweet Milligan,
Our dentures feel that thrill again
As round the world we watch you fly
Like an immortal custard pie.