ramblings and things
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.