When the locals, gather as workmen
In the canteens of so little
To meal themselves with warmth of tea
Ready to line a rally on the city lane
No political manoeuvre, of sweet talk
Would spin the concerns of the masses
The streets will soon be covered with the worker aunts
Picketing, bickering, demanding their bare necessity
From the suited, out of touch, politicians
Who still peddle lip service
And talking tough
On jettison horse dung
When the bite hits had on pockets
And tightened belts just leads to
More tightening belts, to job loss
While the cream at the top get 49.9% pay rise
Just to say they were considerate enough
To the little people, not to hit the 50% mark
And local men, worker bees and aunts
Ponder on outcomes, sleeps not at night
Fearing what tomorrow holds
This wave of unemployment
Will soon grace our doors, it is a dark cloud
Like the black death's epidemic
Do they think we protest
For the fun of it, just as a right to
Talking it down, as just a phase, like a youthful rebellion
24 hours of protestation and it will all be over
These aunts, bees would be back at work
And nothing would have changed, but just a dump squib
Except for the enforcement of the cuts
Snobbish to the little people
Who's survival are foreign to their concept
Politicians should be jailed
For gross professional "suit without substance"
Criminal misconduct of mismanagement
To have brought about the death of the economy
Just as the doctor faces his for t' same in a sense
Why get away with Hippocratic oaths
Instead t' behave with pomposity, t' write books to sell after
About their misdeeds selling out each other
Duplicity on reflection, like thieves without honour, is new
Do you think we line on rally lanes in mob
Just as a procession, a fashion statement
Just because we have the right to
And we like doing the river dance
Do you think, really I ask
Mate, seriously do you really think
