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Don't Give Me That Carp
by Katy Darby

I used to like my goldfish, used to think that we were mates
We had marvellous times together, sharing loves and laughs and hates
I had won him at a funfair in the dim and distant past
And I felt that our relationship was truly meant to last.

Well, I don't mean to be bitchy, but I think it’s pretty low
For my so-called friend to ditch me – why? You really want to know?
Well I'll tell you. Wasn't sex or drugs or fighting over rent:
There's a much more venal reason why my little goldfish went.

It was money, pure and simple. Though I met his every need
I suppose he was a goldfish with ambitions still to feed:
But I really couldn't hack it when I saw him in my tweeds
And my interviewing jacket (slightly stained by flakes and weeds).

There may be no law against it, and I'm not a speciesist
But there are some innovations that I think we should resist:
One of these is giving management consultant jobs to fish.
(I'm all for equal opportunities but that just takes the piss.)

So he started at Accenture and he left me on my own:
In his capital adventure he preferred to be alone.
Bounced the emails that I sent, yeah, and turned off his mobile phone –
Saw him lunching with backbenchers in the Groucho. I was thrown.

After all that I had done for him he wouldn't take my calls!
All his lackeys sent me packing when I chased him down the halls
Of Accenture. "In a meeting," was the answer (load of balls)
I was trying to build bridges: he was busy building walls.

And the worst thing was the papers: he was always in the press.
"Golden Goldfish Tipped For Rich List" – going to premieres in that dress:
I just couldn’t get away. The Guardian said he had finesse.
"No, that's FINS!" I yelled, and nearly bought the Mail in my distress.

So my fish is very popular and I am very poor
Since the nicest landlords drop ya if you punch holes in the door
(Think I might just move to Skopje, and prepare myself for war.)
Say I'm carping – I can't stop ya – but I can’t take any more!