Lord sugars returned, as ever he’s spurned, to discover a bright business mind, A new load of contestants, natter on so incessant, about how they are one of a kind.
So with all belts been tightened, graduates become frightened, job hunting just gets so tiring,
Lord Sugar’s an exception, during the recession, he’s the only one who seems to be hiring.
He axes each player, like a Jewish Darth Vader, he’s had 6 pad wans help him so far,
They must be the best, to help him in his quest, and build his Kosher Death Star.
Good old Sir Alan, sets them a challenge, as they all try and outdo each other,
But most fail in this mission; it becomes an audition, to discover the next chuckle brothers.
He’s made them sell meat, and massage people’s feet, and sell crisp flavours off to the Germans,
Though they all look like fools, and despite ridicule, makes these gobshites far more determined.
And if they are so clever, then why do they never, question the challenges Sir Alan setting,
Why does nobody ask, when doing the tasks, how this relates to the position their getting?
He don’t think it’s funny if you squander his money, his face goes redder than Hell Boys,
He goes slightly bonkers and calls them all plonkers, like he’s suddenly turned into Del Boy.
And who could really blame this grumpy Sid James, with all the fuck ups he’s seen,
Get rid of these cunts, call off the job hunt, and just hire old Mr Bean.
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