Lord, bless these Sugar wannabees,
Grant them the ‘Go’ to knock the Knuchies,*
The gift of gall to slither past his
Trick-or-treats for boardroom rookies.
Make each the one who most aspires,
Exudes the spunk and compost-mentis**
To weasel round one last ‘ You’re Fired’,
Become this media-gog’s Apprentice.
Tell not such feckless guys and gels
The real world keeps rotating;
That Management by Decibels
Long dropped out of the ratings.
Ask not who beebed him to debase
‘Apprentice’ – long a word of honour,
Downgrade it to this charmless chase
For the new style TV corporate conner.
But maybe tell our Noble Fraud
The times are now propitious,
To flog back to the House of Lords
His box of rotting fishes.
* Lord Sugar word for ‘wimps’