So we’ve gone and built the hand-cart
and it’s all aboard for Hell!
We’ve given them the power
because they handle it so well.
These chaps know what they’re doing
and they’re doing it to us
for what are we to them?
We are ashes. We are dust.
Bullingdons and bankers
Hooray Henrys, hedge-fund hogs
grouse-killers, arms-trade dogs
old boys with their old school ties
and fingers in the juiciest pies
pampered youths in hunting pink
(never been near a kitchen sink)
second-homers, private jetters,
merchant princes and trend-setters
– they’ll frack and drill, and clear-fell trees.
They’ll let Bayer kill the bees.
They’ll eat hand-pollinated pears.
If we go hungry – well – who cares?
They have plans for the NHS.
Better not fall ill unless
your credit’s healthy, or your employer
has taken out insurance for ya.
The ice is melting. We may drown
but, never fear, they won’t go down;
they’ll build gated communities
to float upon the rising seas.
At my age it’s mighty cruel,
five more years of Tory rule.