Why did we bail out the banks? Well, what else
Is left, apart from gambling on futures?
The steel mills, the mines, manufacturers
Of motor parts, most anything that smells
Of productive labour has gone abroad
Now there’s just services, public sector
And The City. Poor people must trek to
The Smoke and live in cubby holes. On board
The good ship Lolly, moored in Monaco
Your future’s past with a wave of the hand
And those poor folk who can’t get off the land
It’s not so bad if they can get some blow
And watch the ex-factory hands sing out
Of tune on the X Factor, down the spout
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