‘What do you want to be when you grow up?’

Daddy asked his pretty little girl
‘What do you want to be when you grow up?’
And the little girl replied:
‘I want to work in advertising and public relations.
I want to put a pound sign on complex human emotions
I want to find out what it is exactly that we are all striving for
Then slap on a discount like an industry whore.
I want to reach out to families through their TVs
Sell them Wonga and Churchill and Fat-Free Cream Cheese
I want to dangle happiness in front of them, followed by sex
If they’d only send through bank transfers or cheques
I want to look out at London’s skyline and wonder
Where’s still left to billboard, which prime spots to plunder
Which children’s hospital can a Nike tick go under
Which Olympics legacy stadium can Golden Arches split asunder
Can you imagine? Every pet shop in town
being emblazoned in Esso or Shell all around
With no hint of irony, coz irony’s lost
On a society obsessed with materials and cost
I could work unimpinged with impunity, right?
Show them shiny trinkets
Monkey want, monkey like
Feed this culture vulture what it wants, what it needs
This bizarre desire for ownership, hording and greed
Meanwhile, I can just sit back and grow fat
On my 10 percent, while the rest of us bleed
Through their noses as their heads spin and get dizzy with this shit
With this thirst we have for panel shows full of bullying and mean-spirited wit
Full of talentless talent-hoes barely weaned from the tit
Thrust into a bear-pit of abuse and humiliation –legit
This compulsion with the image and yearning for perfection
As we drive into the sky with bulbous gherkins, glass-shard erections
Fuck I could do PR for the next general election
And when they enquire when it’s over what exactly I did
I’ll just show them my bar bill for 250,000 quid
I bought a journo some coke, and a media mogul a hooker
You can’t quantify this bullshit, it’s bullshit, that’s the point
But what magic I’ll wield over Emperor’s New Clothes
To find my target market and watch how it grows
Like a cancerous cyst zapping healthy new cells
Like they say, if it sells, then it sells, then it sells
To snatch a loaf of bread from out of the hand
And replace it with guilt, misdirection and brand
Here is my copy for tinned fruit that is canned
Here is my artwork for a drink that’s been banned
We’ve replaced all the E numbers with a few grains of sand
It’s cheaper this way, before it cost us ten grand
But the waistlines of the kids are starting to expand
Who’d have thought that you’d still get fat swapping sugar for sand?!
Anyway, my next fantasy project is altogether much simpler
It’s a children’s book based on Where’s Wally?
Except we’ve set in Portugal and called it Where’s Maddy?
Can I have my ice-cream now Daddy?
Daddy swallowed hard and turned to his little boy,
‘And what do you want to be?’
‘A fireman!’ said the boy
Daddy breathed a sigh of relief and spoke to the ice-cream seller
‘Two 99 flakes please’.
He didn’t get much change back from a tenner.