My pint of beer cost one and six
When we had pounds and pence
And we were Britain and we were great
Before this Euro pretense.
And travel by train was such a joy
Cocooned In a world of your own
No laptop, or tablets or pc's
And no dreadful mobile phone.
No internet for evening chats
Or, for quickly spreading news.
No social media sites for
Exchanging controversial views.
So much has changed since that time
Yet much is still the same.
The rich get richer the poor get poorer
Adding to our national shame.
But at least the hungry can watch
Master Chef with thanks
As they eek out their meagre wages
With donations from food banks
And from their social housing
Watch richer folk as they roam
Around and round the country side
Looking for their fantasy homes.
Also very comforting when seen
From sleeping bags on the street
Through a lighted shop window
By a hopefully safe retreat
And for every single night
The homeless persons’ test,
Sleeping safe without attack
And avoiding police arrest.
And as the Tories tell us
As they dodge their tax and blether,
You may be having it hard old man
But we're all in this together.
They are the children of Thatcher
Although in no way related
Just the latest spawning of
Politician she created.
My pint now costs three pounds plus.
There are still beggars on the street
And the return to Victorian values
Is now almost complete.
Things may not have been so different
With pounds and shillings and pence
But at least the Tories then didn't think
We were idiots with little common sense.
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