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Money well spent

the year's already wheezing
knackered: like a post coital toad
the old tropes spilling from the cupboard

"those who have the money are not our sort
they're (whisper it) the other sort
whistle up a front page, an old story

we're all freedom fighters now
shuffling to hide the sacks of cash
the plucky offshore outsiders

it's a tough old business, freedom
and if we have to reach a little
into recent memory, well then

it's amazing how quickly
it comes back to you, in the pinch
and it's a grand old tradition

we built this place anyway
fuelled it with blood, anyway
and say there are obstacles

well, £55K doesn't buy you much
these days, except Theresa
and she'll get you anything you want"

and he's off, whistling
something of the spiv to the walk
the sudden smell of ash

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