Dear Friends,
Central planners are despots in suits,
With their beloved brown shirt brutes,
Demanding we cower,
Before unlimited power,
And stomping on faces with jack boots.
As the UK government gets deeper in hock,
Joking about bins while ignoring the clock,
No self-awareness,
Couldn’t care less,
While making themselves a laughing stock.
The elite never considered the impact,
Of making narrative fiction out of fact,
A beast in a thong,
What could go wrong,
With ripping up the social contract.
We just can’t do without them you see,
It’s for the kids and to make life free,
With hearts of gold,
Hard stark and cold,
So we’re bankrupted by their profligacy.
Central planning requires gun powder,
As the cries of people get ever ______,
A Machiavellian pact,
Allowing an evil ___,
Eating our wealth like corn ________.
Sincerely,
John Pepin
