Chimes

NARRATOR In the Summer, my van is an ice cream van And I, am an ice cream man Not that there's much of a Summer round here If it's not dewy, it's drizzly If it's not drizzly, it's spitting If it's not spitting, it's chucking it down Or bucketing it down Or coming down in sheets Still, now and then the sun comes out long enough To burn a few bald heads And sell a few ice creams I've no real passion for ice cream But it keeps me busy while I wait for winter That's when the van becomes a gritting van, and I become a gritterman Soon as the Christmas lights go up in the high street I stock up on grit I've got two fibreglass 99s on the roof of the van There's a fella in town that makes 'em He reckons he can do any food in fibreglass Whatever you want And they are temperamental things And one of 'ems melted a bit from a hot bulb But when they're not on the blink, they light up and rotate And as they turn, they chime Everything from Mr. Mozart's drawing room To Mr. Softie's jingle I have 'em on whether I am selling ice or gritting it They'll ring out for the last time tonight I got sent a letter from the council Dear Sir Your services are no longer required I've done more years gritting than there were letters in that letter But that's OK, I'm not much of a reader