The C… Side
I suddenly recognised who was coming
Towards me on that deserted shoreline.
A walrus and a carpenter,
Guzzling oysters with vinegar and wine.
As they drew ever nearer I saw that I was very wrong.
It was Liz Truss and Kwasi Kwateng
Singing their victory song!
‘We’ve given to the rich
And we’re taking from the poor!
Who cares if the plebs
Don’t want to vote for us no more!’
We don’t need popularity
We only need hard cash!
As long as we have power
We’re adding to our stash!
We know all the media
For us will lie and spin.
Despite all the mess we’ve made
We’ll likely get back in!’
Off on the horizon I spied a whale did breach.
Then it’s bloated body
Became washed up on the beach.
‘What ho! Holy moly, golly gosh!,’
Johnson did proclaim,
Stashing hay in his loft.
Such is the price of fame.
‘I’ve come back to haunt you
In the form of Moby Dick’
‘My advice is simple:
Lie, cheat and party,
Then jump the sinking ship!’
With that the corpulent cetacean
Did float off to richer climes
Leaving us in his wake
To deal with his crimes in poorer times.
Truss the demented shrew,
With haughty Kwateng at her side,
Harpoon in hand
In a whaler took a ride.
Hunting down the great white whale
Like an Ahab of old.
She pierced him in the vitals
To take her share of gold.
On the shore they’re all fighting,
Stabbing at those backs.
Promising the earth,
Raising, lowering income tax!
The spectators are mystified.
Not realising it’s a game,
Played by very different rules,
With a cast that are all insane.
They do not care what they are saying,
Or the lies that are being told,
Or the outcomes of their mischief,
As long as they get their share of gold!
For power is the heady drug
For which they need a fix.
They’ll do anything to get it.
Truth and power do not mix!
When the whale and the shrew are through
We’ll be left wondering how come.
This bunch of crazed psychopaths
Got away with fooling everyone!
I’m standing back on that deserted shoreline
With the wreckage of their brief reign
Washing up the bodies
That were all flushed down the drain.
There’s little left to do
Except to join the party fun.
Ordered to laugh at the tragedy;
The party’s just begun.
So pass me an oyster
` Please walrus dear.
The carpenter’s making coffins.
The end is drawing near.
We’re living in the wreckage of twelve years of Tory greed. The rich are immeasurably richer. The poor are incredibly poorer. People are working round the clock just to keep their heads above water. The public services are trashed. The country is hocked to the gills.
While the politicians party with their champagne and caviar the country is sliding down into the slums of history.
The Cayman Islands have never had it better as the tax loopholes are deliberately left unblocked. Forget your windfall, corporation tax or caps on multimillion pound bonuses. The country is not run for the likes of us.
The propaganda machines spin, telling us that our Tory masters care. Those with half a brain can see where the wealth is flowing and who is being exploited.
Wages are lowered, rights are reduced, unions are shackled, benefits are frozen.
Welcome to modern Britain and the Tory dream. A country that is functioning for the few.
We who are not allowed into your exclusive clubs are glad to serve.
We can no longer afford our hovels but have to watch you scoff at us from your yachts, country mansions and penthouses.
Such is the power of democracy. He who owns the media owns the minds. They’re a bunch of c…s!