Chimes

NARRATOR
In the Summer, my van is an ice cream van
And I, am an ice cream man
Not that there's much of a Summer round here
If it's not dewy, it's drizzly
If it's not drizzly, it's spitting
If it's not spitting, it's chucking it down
Or bucketing it down
Or coming down in sheets
Still, now and then the sun comes out long enough
To burn a few bald heads
And sell a few ice creams
I've no real passion for ice cream
But it keeps me busy while I wait for winter
That's when the van becomes a gritting van, and I become a gritterman
Soon as the Christmas lights go up in the high street
I stock up on grit
I've got two fibreglass 99s on the roof of the van
There's a fella in town that makes 'em
He reckons he can do any food in fibreglass
Whatever you want
And they are temperamental things
And one of 'ems melted a bit from a hot bulb
But when they're not on the blink, they light up and rotate
And as they turn, they chime
Everything from Mr. Mozart's drawing room
To Mr. Softie's jingle
I have 'em on whether I am selling ice or gritting it
They'll ring out for the last time tonight
I got sent a letter from the council
Dear Sir
Your services are no longer required
I've done more years gritting than there were letters in that letter
But that's OK, I'm not much of a reader