Wednesday, 28 October 2015

Name that tune...

It isn't easy, writing some songs
And counting your money all afternoon long
But wealth's not enough without the poor to walk on

You'll not believe it
So bloody poor all he's got is nice stuff
The poor bugger seems to forget
He shits sitting down just like us

He had to help it happen, it had to change
Crushing the riff raff under his heel
Flying over from New York, enjoying first class fun

So he chose fuck 'em
While pissed up on some subsidised booze
And sending the poor to the wall
We never expected 'owt else

Don't cry for Andrew Lloyd Webber
The truth is he's doing okay
His stomach is full
His wallet so fat
He voted that way
'Cos he's a rich twat

And as for fairness, it's such a shame
He never invited it in
Even though it's quite plainly the right thing to do

They are the selfish
They are the ones who tell us cruelty is kind
Although it sounds spiteful to some
They're mantra remains "mine, mine, MINE"


Does he have too much?
There's little more I can think they could take from you
Unless they start to tax the air that you're breathing
Or the steam off your poo


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