Two punnets of strawberries a pound.




We die younger because of being poor,
always opening the door,
as we wheelie wobble from the fags,
all us old friendly lags.

We know all about the social
and we're very partial,
to a bit of family fun,
we don't do jogging and run.

You love us when we fall in lines,
never moaning,
ever roaming,
buddy can you spare a dime?

You'll even shed a tear,
have no fear,
for we know only to well,
the old lie,
but it has to be written in Latin
and the pretty girls go,
clatter clattin.

We've read Marx and Engels
and know how to sharpen pencils,
but when pushed,
we'll say "they all piss in the same pot",
for we haven't got a lot.

You say work does make us free,
but it's time for tea.

There's a man down the cut,
who doesn't say much,
they say he helped liberate Bergen-Belson,
for theirs a lesson,
lost in time,
burnishing the swords
and blessing the vine.

~