In reply to “S.R.T.”
(With apologies to all who have the misfortune to read this.)
It’s alright for them with muscular arms,
To jump on a ladder without any qualms,
But for us poor buggers, who on rungs have no hope, Far easier for us to shin up a rope.
More steady our action, more graceful our
We can just hang there and pose for a while.
Not as on ladders, where if you dare slow,
They drag on the lifeline, and off you must go.
Legs all aching and arms of jelly,
A funny feeling inside your belly,
The ladder goes on and more rungs appear,
T’would be much better if a rope hung on here.
We’ve got it made, us S.R.T. folks,
We ab down, then prusik on strength-tested ropes,
We walk up a thin thread, and laugh at the rest,
Who struggle on ladders, doing their best.
Doubtless you’ll say that this is all s---t,
But with sane people, S.R.T. is a hit.
I’m sorry lads, but you know this is true,
Blue Water, not wire, is a must for you.
It’s really quite safe, and twice as much fun,
Ladders to me are a pain in the bum,
Our ropes are well cared for, not covered in rust
And we’re never worried that our lines will bust.
I know that this nonsense is not a patch on
But trying to write poetry gives me the blues,
So here I will end with just one thing to say,
Ropes are the greatest, chuck your ladders away.