Undemocratic Glare Looks Yonder... (ok then, ugly)

Undemocratic Glare Looks Yonder….
( ok then - ugly)

This is number ten donation street,
on Britain’s benefit to rich people square.
Where men of greed so often meet,
hidden, from democracy’s glare.

A street where all our billions flow,
to men of wealth, title or influence.
Blown to foreign accounts like snow,
without worry or mere consequence.

People on this street always blame,
shirkers for taking our cash.
But their chums have no shame,
they’ve just got a bigger stash.

Honest people can’t live here,
it’s a street without a heart.
Got be on the fiddle my dear,
picking public pockets for a start.

This is also where the PM lives,
that’s Prime Money mover to the rich.
Cutting up our taxes with his spivs,
making sure we’re left not a stitch.

Then they say we have our votes or voices,
that democracy is listening to what we want.
While they charge off in their Rolls Royce’s,
off round the world on another free jaunt.

This street is close to the house of commons,
that’s code for a rich persons jobs fair.
Corporations pop in to employ their good sons,
though it’s ours we need permission to go there.

This street has a culture that preys on our fears,
saying we’re not educated for self governance.
That only men moulded to be ministers or peers,
can lead the people of this land in merry dance.

I have little time for these parasitic pricks,
who make us fight to vote for a living hell,
If only we’d break free from doomsday politics,
care, then help each other to start living well.