T'was a cold dark night in the Yukon,
as the gold miner trudged through the snow.
The nugget he’d sought had eluded him,
so he searched for the path far below.
He looked for a light in the distance,
A chance to survive till the dawn
But the cold and the wind went right through him
And he died where he fell, all alone.
In the morning the search party found him
and saw in the snow how he’d scrawled
a last haunting message, his final plea
“We need 6 more consultants at St Peter’s A and E!”
(a don't stop till you drop production)