Dear Friends,
The CEO says everything’s just great,
They’re doing a wonderful job there mate,
People without property,
As Fentanyl and the clot shot will seal our fate.
Some folks use English in their own version,
Shilling an ideology of progressive subversion,
A tongue for an eye,
And language like gender becomes a perversion.
The British elite really have a nerve,
Undermining the culture with verve,
If you speak son,
Because they despise the people they’re supposed to serve.
When wrongthink is evil as evil can be,
And wrong speak gets you jailed for eternity,
Stabbings by the dime,
And you know that Britain has become a tyranny.
Mad if it goes up mad if it goes down,
Some people must always wear a frown,
But is it organic,
Because many pundits wear shirts of brown.
Sincerely,
John Pepin
