I’m better off, by 26 pounds and 46 pee,
Says the telegraph and the bee bee see.
Though I’ll never see it
Or notice when they flee,
Back to Jeremy Clarksions ,
Country homes by the sea.
He can work, if he looks well
She can too!
Though they haven’t the will
or the way,
To conditions undo.
There aren’t jobs for you,
But if you can’t work you’ll starve.
As you don’t look disabled
And your pension’s a farce .
In a red box, never kind to the poor,
Some pittance of tax jargon
Which the rich will abhor
And therefore not pay .
So it will stay as a theory ,
And a nice one at that,
That one day the richest
Might pay us all back .
I’d like to see him wear a powdered wig, laugh and give a big smirk
“If they must live off food banks, then let them eat cake”.
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