PM Treeza last looked out
On the feast of Stephen
Brexit crap lay round about
Deep and brown and heaving
Brightly shone the moon that night
Though the Mail was cruel
When a poor man came in sight
Gath'ring winter fuel
"Hither, Gove, and stand by me
If thou know'st it, telling
Yonder peasant, who is he?
Where and what his dwelling?"
"Ma'am, he lives quite close to here
Sleeping on the pavement
Right against the Thatcher gates
For he is a vagrant."
"Bring me beans and bring me Scotch
Bring me sanctions hither
Thou and I will see him die
As the cold gets bitter."
Gove and PM sat back down,
Raised a glass together
Through the rude wind's wild lament
And the freezing weather
"Ma'am, the night is darker now
And the headlines wronger
Fails my heart, I know not how,
I can go no longer."
"Mark my footsteps, Gove you prat
Tread thou in them boldly
Thou shalt find the sanction's rage
Freeze thy blood quite coldly."
In his master's steps he trod
Where the snow lay dinted
Heat was in the very lies
Which the Mail had printed
Therefore, Tory men, be sure
Wealth or rank possessing
Ye who now will curse the poor
The taxman will be blessing.
2 comments:
Ain't that the truth - very appropriate for this shit government.
I think that cruelty [with this mob] is a feature not a bug.
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