Tuesday, 2 February 2016



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.

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