(Intro) Pardon me while I adjust my cuffs. Thirty-three years in the making, you see. Put the kettle on, old chap... and let me tell you how it’s done. (Verse 1) Nineteen ninety-four on the warehouse floor, Stacking up the pallets, sweeping round the door. Eighteen years of graft, steady as a clock, Till the head office dropped an unexpected shock: "We bought a little plant, but we haven't got a clue, We need someone sharp, so we're tossing it to you!" Sixty days flat with the previous team, To master every coating, every resin and machine. From the pallet truck straight to the captain's chair, Not a flutter in my step, not a single gray hair! (Chorus) Oh, do give yourself a jolly good clap! Tip the bowler hat and adjust the strap! From the dust below to the captain's throne, Built up an empire of my bloody own! Splendid form, I say, first-class display, Now raise up a glass to a champion’s day! (Verse 2) Twenty twenty-two, and the sirens cried, Decades of history went up inside! Wiped clean out, down to blackened soot, Not a single piece of tooling or a fixture put! Every bespoke mask and every custom frame, Turned into smoke in a roaring flame! Clients drifted off, took their orders elsewhere, Most would throw their hands up and surrender to despair. Did I drop the monocle? Did I lose my cool? I rolled up my sleeves and went back to school! Re-engineered the lot, built the lines from scratch, Found a level of precision that nobody could match! (Bridge) And then, of course, the world turned strange. Defence orders landed. Serious hardware on the table. Coatings built to withstand anything... and record-breaking books to prove it. Utterly magnificent. (Verse 3) Now thirty-three years of immaculate drive, The only damn reason that the shop is alive! So hand me the keys for a gentleman's price, I’ve earned every corner, I won't ask twice! Or I’ll pack my know-how and walk out the gate, Because bricks don't run machines, mate— I make the place operate! (Chorus) Oh, do give yourself a jolly good clap! Tip the bowler hat and adjust the strap! From the dust below to the captain's throne, Built up an empire of my bloody own! Splendid form, I say, first-class display, Now raise up a glass to a champion’s day! (Outro) Thirty-three years. A rather tidy turnaround, if I do say so myself. Now... where's that bill of sale? Good day!
