It’s a seaside town of a thousand souls.

The retired, the junkies and those on the dole.

In summer, the sea and population swells.

See the swing of truncheon, hear the creak of cells.

Give me the job, of the towns pied piper.

I’d arrest the drugged the drunk and hyper.

Investigate the fashion for skin and bones.

Take an ID snap of the rats with phones.

Patrol the promenade looking mean and moody.

Stop and search each sallow faced hoody.

I would harass and hound each big time seller.

Impound cars if parked, on double yellow.

Beware the pied piper of seaside town.

Dance to my tune or i’ll take you down.

If I was younger and had a soul.

But i’m retired, a junkie and claiming dole.