CONSIDERED CONVERSION

[Been there? Done that?]

When I first took to travel and journeyed around,
Budgetary problems quite early I found,
So I worked out a formula, safe, sure and true,
A formula now that I’m sharing with you.
It is simple and easy, cannot be forgot,
So what IS it? Be patient - I’ll tell you just what.
Wherever you’re going, wherever you’re bound,
Simply ask: “Just how many are there to the pound?”

I have dealt with the franc, with the dinar, the kroner,
While journeying round, most often a loner.
I have been to the Souk, the Kashbar, the Bazaar,
(Though now I’ve forgotten where most of them are!)
To offers for sterling, “To do me a favour!”,
My answer is “No!” with a firm but fierce flavour.
When the shouting dies down, I’m still holding my ground
And still asking “How many are there to the pound?”

In the direful year of nineteen seventy-one,
A new set of troubles I found had begun.
My world had gone decimal, early in Lent,
And I lost my firm grip on just what I had spent.
After Easter I cheerfully set off for Rome,
Bringing conversion instructions from home.
In every via, in each fine piazza,
The English were gathered, each crying out “Whatsa

Quid in these "lira" - five bob in real money?
And Annabelle there seems to find it all funny!”
The answer, I told them, on this foreign ground,
Is ask: “Just how many are there to the pound?”
If one day I should get to the Heavenly Gate
Where St. Pete’s got a note of my eternal fate,
He will greet me - I hope - with a smile kind and genial,
And then ask me my sins, whether mortal or venial.

I shall probably stammer and stutter a while,
As St. Peter, he waits, with a small gentle smile,
Then I’ll fall to my knees, beat my head on the ground,
And wail: “Sins? Just how many are there to the pound?”
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