Another Autumn Statement


All the leaves are brown
And the sky is grey
Osborne’s pomp, overgrown like a weed
If greed is a romp, he’s the hay.

From the soft, foul mulch of his shit-for-brains
Seeps the stank of something rotten
A scheme, all sour and oozing slime
Like an old pumpkin, forgotten

Beware, the Autumn Statement
For it’s the poor what takes the pratfall
When Corbyn tries to give them voice,
He’s met with a sneer and a catcall

Then Cameron blusters, foraging
For some foggy, vague statistic
I think the truth’s in hibernation now
Unless I blinked and fucking missed it

Because our borrowing did not come down
Austerity hasn’t saved the day
Now it’s dark and cold, like a Tory’s soul
And all the skies are grey

Meanwhile, Iain Duncan Smith
Gives your bones that extra chill
With a ‘Take No Prisoners’ Policy
It’s called – Sanction To Kill!

Yes, it’s always the poor what takes the fall
So better brace yourself for Winter
Find your other glove, hug someone you love
Take a nip of a warming tincture

Because it’s dark and cold, like a Tory’s soul
And all our skies are grey
Osborne’s pomp grows wild like a weed
Choking everything in it’s way

So please join me, in telling he:
(First, raise your middle finger)
Stick your statement, George,
Up the slender gorge
Of your pompous, privileged sphincter

Yes, it’s the poor what always takes the fall
Whilst the favoured few take plenty
So here’s another Autumn Statement, George
You are gone, come 2020.

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