Now stands the clock on Landgate Tower
Around the time of the witching hour,
But will the tourists up and down
The ancient streets of our old town
With camera’s poised and fingers clicking
Perhaps one day see that it’s ticking?
For who do we now take to task?
For all the things Rye residents ask.
The old gungarden is lovely and quaint
But the doors on the loo’s are devoid of paint.
The loo’s by the station are a disgrace,
Paint and plaster peeling off the place.
The road to Winchelsea now feels
As if my car has got square wheels.
Is it our council, or is it Rother?
I get the feeling that neither bother
All around our town the roads are cracking
Is anyone on the case? is everyone slacking?
And would it make the treasurer faint
For a couple of men with a pot of paint,
To give the old look-out a lift
That stands at the top of Hilders Cliff,
That’s wishful thinking I suppose
For we all know where the money goes.
So perhaps we already know the truth,
For if you need some further proof
Take you to Bexhill and you will see
For over there it’s a spending spree.
Money for the seafront spend, spend, spend,
Money for the De la Warr without end.
Money for this, money for that,
What else can we throw money at?
Oh dear what’s happened to Rye?
I remember the days now long gone by
When our council made our rules
But now appear as Rother’s tools.
Military Road, Rye