He'd sell his granny down the river he's that nasty,
How can we trust a man that's never eaten a pasty?
The ancient staple of the working class with connections to the divine,
in the 18th century they used to leave pasties to appease the souls of the dead in Devon tin mines
The doppelganger evil twin of Robin Hood,
doing more for the few and less for the greater good.
Wouldn't catch him queuing round the block for petrol, fuming in a fume filled car,
its just a game for them watching the chaos ensue from afar.
He has all the boyish charms of the terrible two's,
doing his best to amuse....his mates.
They get mates rates on tax,
so his non pasty eating, chauffeur driven millionaire friends can relax.
For them life's one big money making party,
normal rules don't apply for the new world disorder illuminati.
The cut in the 50p tax rate is no comfort to those at the bottom of the chain,
the trickle down effect as illusive as rain... in the desert.
A minuscule drop from a bountiful river in a stagnant ocean,
no equity for the millions of cogs keeping the capitalist wheels in motion.
With the pasty he's not au fait,
bet he's never eaten at an all you can eat buffet.
Thinks BOGOF is a portable loo,
and Primark is an EU conglomerate manufacturer of glue.
So far removed from the state of the nation,
he may as well live in space on a satellite station.
It works both ways, I thought a kitchen supper was eating a pasty over the sink so you don't need to wash up
Not a phrase to down play secret dinners in No 10 for donors of the party, totally corrupt.
