The country’s broke, but we don’t care;
There’s opportunity out there
For the savvy billionaire.
But not for you, mate, not for you.
There is no deal, but what the hell?
For our gang things are going swell;
We have high-margin stocks to sell.
But you don’t, mate, you don’t.
Chaos reigns, but we won’t panic.
We’ll jump clear of the Titanic;
Do without all things Britannic.
But you won’t, mate, you won’t.
Cliff edge? We take it in our stride.
We pick advisers trained to hide
Our dodgy money on the side.
But you can’t, mate, you can’t.
Our stooges in the gutter press,
Who helped to bring about this mess,
Will benefit from our largesse.
Unlike you, mate, unlike you.
The well-placed Lord, the Eton boy,
Are weapons which we will deploy
To keep at bay the hoi polloi.
That means you, mate; that means you.