Once I had a job working on the line
It was a living and everything was fine
Then Liz Sayce grabbed the Tory bob
Which threw thousands of us out of a job.
Working at Remploy meant I wasn’t poor
And it kept the bad wolf away from my door
It put food on the table and paid the bills
As well as helping me to develop new skills.
Although the work didn’t always stretch my mind
And sometimes it felt like more of a grind
Yet the camaraderie, the jokes, the craic
Made up for any humdrum, as I look back.
In wage talks our steward’s knew their brief
Knowing any stitch-ups would end in grief
So all offers went first to the shop floor
If a rep bypassed us, he was shown the door.
Then MP Margaret Hodge decided to have a go
Describing Remploy as a workplace ghetto
A warehouse for crips to congregate
To while away their time, and to vegetate.
The very notion that we were segregated
In workhouse conditions now antiquated
Couldn’t be further away from actual truth
Her comments made without the burden of proof.
If Remploy workers were late in the mornings
The management would issue written warnings;
Like other workers we grafted from eight to four
And on the bell we were straight out the door.
But it wasn’t only MPs who wished our demise
The big charities also eyed up the Remploy prize
Damning factory life with lies and distortion
In the expectation of grubbing their portion.
When finally, the factories shut up shop
The craven charities were caught on the hop
As there was no pot of gold, no fat dividend
All they were left with was a reputation to mend.
This is, sadly, a tale of betrayal and of woe
For Remploy workers who felt the cold blow,
Abandoned by Iain Duncan-Smith’s DWP
Brought about by Sayce’s perfidious decree.
So if you ever come across the Judas Sayce
Remind her that she’s a fucking disgrace
For consigning so many people to the dole
Just so she could achieve her selfish goal.