Coming home from work I could see the smoke
From the burning of wood in the back court
I sighed when I saw the empty can
And the glazed eyes of a certain man
He was breaking the shed up and putting it in
the incinerator which was mad of tin
I heaved a heavy sigh when I saw this sight
and thought there's a chance that he just might
set fire to the neighbour's fence or something like that
Alcohol and fire don't go together and that's a fact
Away I go to wash my car frustrated as hell with this pathetic sight
Of a drunk burning wood in broad daylight
My daughter runs out and says, "Should the fence be on fire?"
Left to grow on its own, it resembled a pyre
What a spectacle it must have been; one that in Whiteinch had never been seen
I looked at my youngest and the shame on her face
You're out of here boy, you're a bloody disgrace
The next day was almost as bad
I dismantled the shed that never had
Been broken up in a way
that was safer than happened the other day
My hands were black from charcoal and dust
breaking it down, knowing I must
get it into the car to the dump before dusk
And what is the moral of this tale you might say
Don't set a fire, and then walk away!