Politicians soup they called it
Very clear and very thin
Like those election promises
No substance to put in
And it was fed to the people
And while they lived on that
The snouts at the trough
Waxed exceedingly fat
And when the feast was over
They didn't seem to know
There is a kind of grace
In knowing when to go
They stayed and milked the menu
Until the last bitter end
For when you've stuffed your fill
You've no need of a friend
And every now and then
They spared a little titter
For the poor and the lonely,
The cheated and the bitter
For now they've had their fill
Of the honey and the milk
They can rest in plenty
With others of their ilk
