Thursday, 28 October 2010
I prognosticate a dystopia
Lines of the Listless
Reams of the Restless
Spun out, wrung out, hung out to dry
In the cold
Where they don't feel the benefit of social engineering
An ethnic cleanse that contends
With the measures of Slobodan Milosevic
I'm sick of this sweetening with molasses kiss
Spare me the bullshit.
"We're in this together."
A compassionate con;
This time was supposed to be heretical!
Fat Cats on the back bench titter and snigger
While the trigger on the Magnum pop-pops with vigour
The rounds aimed at the ligger
Who's pot for getting the Stella's in gets bigger and bigger
But it's the taxpayer who's got the hangover
Said yesterday's chip shop wrapping paper.
So rank, (apparently)
They single file
For fifteen minutes of fame on Jeremy Kyle.
Braggadocio of the braggarts that get them all roused
Of eight mothers for eight kids and a free council house,
Four teeth of which three of them are gold
Family silver and values are sold
Then good old Jezza gets them told.
"Go out, get a job and work like the rest of us have to!"
Of course, it's Trident tested years ago
Jobs for the boys, we look on amazed
At new improved ceilings, double-glazed.
Everyone's sat about thinking,
Pick your victim accordingly,
Don't slash the system remorselessly
If wielding the axe is a necessity
Then for the love of God,
Let's do this progressively.