They couldn’t gloss over The harrowing call To attend the carnage At Farrow and Ball There were grave reports Of paint desecration Middle England’s worst nightmare An affront to the nation They were on the trail But where to begin? Call Father Brown? Or Rin tin tin? There was Dorset cream mixed with pigeon grey While the Elephants breath was draining away We’re on high alert a spokesman quipped A deranged punter has totally flipped He was captured on film The man was no saint Bashing the cans And chucking the paint “Say ‘how do ya do’ To Kittiwake blue Have some dead salmon Matt How d’ya like that?” Had he lost the plot? Drunk too much beer? Has he been on the pot? And lost his veneer? It was serious stuff And no fun at all Seeing the carnage At Farrow and Ball The sceptical chief Scratched his head at the station Could it all be a pigment Of his imagination? Might it be blackmail Or a white collar heist Or a Jackson Pollock Poltergeist? The police arrived Their sirens blared A PC emerged He wasn’t scared Bristling with rage He slid through the door Grabbed a brush for defence And rolled over the floor He ran a few metres But had to duck down To avoid five litres Of broccoli brown One bobby was trapped They tried to warn her She’d painted herself Into a slippery corner The red-faced Chief Was feeling quite blue ‘This could never occur At the town’s B&Q It’s a terrible day Where can I start This man’s behaviour Is right off the chart’ It took them a while It was no fun at all But they quelled the carnage At Farrow and Ball The police chief spoke About crossing red lines Of pigeon grey porridge And hefty fines We managed to achieve This man’s expulsion We’re so overjoyed Overcome with emulsion He’s in the can And that’s what counts A colourful character By all accounts Now it’s back to business They’ve reopened the store They’ve cleaned the walls And scoured the floor But DIY buffs I’d say to you all Please mind where you tread At Farrow and Ball
