Robbie MacGrimes was a sheep of his times,
Full of entrepreneurial bonhomie;
Gave up at two what most other rams do
For a hoof in the market economy.
A yuppie at three, a financial degree,
And an M.B.A. summa cum laude;
Owned a tanker or two, and unregistered crew,
With a wily old camel from Saudi.
Made a fortune at four with a kangaroo boar
Into lager and brewing down under;
Put it all into junk, bought a sizeable chunk
Of Manhattan with part of the plunder.
Was Sir Robbie at five, with a stake in a live
Satellite channel, but greedier
To be Lord Rob MacGrimes of the Guardian or Times,
Or some other respectable media.
Found it stuck in some throats to mix sheep with the goats
Of the peerage, invoking a writ on
The affront to the peace of ennobling the fleece
The Lord Chancellor’s bottom should sit on.
The Establishment won, as it mainly has done,
With another sheep wiser if wearier;
Though a press report moots Robbie’s still in cahouts
With some privatised bear in Siberia.
( from The Bertie Ramsbottom Book of Improbable Sheep )