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”.