Highwaymen

Our country's run by highwaymen

Teaching Turpin a thing or two

Dressed in their business suits

With their hearts of truest blue

  Paying homage to the Queen

Second only to their friends

And they really do believe

Means are justified by ends.

They rob from the poor 

To support their rogue banks

And routinely kiss the arses

Of those marauding Yanks.

And we all sit and take it,

We who once stood alone,

Not even bothering

To stick up for our own.

They seen to have a creed

What's not stolen can be bought,

  Scorn the eleventh commandment

 Thou shalt not get caught.

We are ruled by highwaymen

Vagabonds, cutpurses, crooks

Routinely filling their pockets

While cooking the public books

They fiddle while Rome is burning

Not  bothering with circus and bread

Because in these British Isles

The act of protest is near dead.

And if we ever do have the guts

To stand and say no more

They'll probably divert our minds

By sending us off to war.

Quoting Patriotism as their cause,

Selling weapons to both sides,

 Making absolutely sure to

Preserve their own rotten hides.

Swindlers and cheats and liars

Who routinely cheat the Nation:

 Turpin probably spins in the grave

With jealousy and admiration.