While Tabloid would happily take the credit for the creativity that went into the following piece, we are going to have to pass the praise onto our roving spies who are still picking the seaweed out of their hair.
(sung to the tune of the theme from Gilligan's Island)Just sit right back, And you'll hear a tale, A tale of a woeful slip, That started from this tropic port, Near the end of Bay Street.
Bosnar was a mighty sellin' man, Bob Brackin brave and sure, Fifty passengers set sail that day, For a three-hour tour, a three-hour tour.
Hugh Evans started moving cheese, Then Sirius was tossed, If not for the courage of the fearless crew,The Prion would be lost. The Prion would be lost.
The Prion ship ran aground, At thirty nine Koornang Road, With HP, And Compaq too, With Spitfire, We're in strife!
Nowhere near a bar, Throw in Great Plains and we're all damned,Here on Sillitek's Isle,So this is the tale of our company,It's gone for a long, long time.
We had the very best of things, It could make you cry. The board men and their president, Will do their very best, To make themselves very comfortable, In their Cape Town nest.
No phone, no light, no motor car, Not a single piece of stock. Like Robinson Crusoe, We've completely lost the plot.
So join us here each week my friends, You're sure to get a smile. See the liquidators moving in, here on Sillitek's Island?