As common folk, perhaps you thought
That bankers, having sold us short,
And boomed and busted every bubble,
Should now cough up and ease our trouble.
You thought that those who've worked to serve
The public might perhaps deserve
A modicum of help when they
Have paid their taxes all the way.
If such you thought, it proves again
That Britain's public needs more pain
To keep it from that thought most vile:
That, once an economic while,
A Government in times depressed
Should take some small, vague interest
In making sure the ill and old
Are not abandoned in the cold.
For instance, we all know it's wrong
For pensioners to live too long,
Since each new year the wrinklies stay
Means more that others have to pay;
And that is why the new Lord Hutton,
With brain of bone and heart of mutton,
Has laboured for the nouveau Blair
To find solutions that are fair.
We all must pay; we all must work
Lest teachers, doctors, nurses shirk,
Lest dust- and postmen grab their bonus,
Forgetful of that sacred onus,
That burning, shining, Boys' Own piety
Which calls itself the Big Society.
We're all together in this mess:
You must work longer, and for less.
© Philip Challinor
Weblog: The Curmudgeon - You'll come for the curses. You'll stay for the mudgeonry.
Books: Philip Challinor's Books