Pulling the plug on Grandma
Pull the plug on Grandma, baby,
Make sure that her breath is short,
Over seventy, then maybe
Make her death a national sport:
Everyone knows British surgeons,
As the ambulance arrives,
Feed the elderly detergents,
Before they chop them up with knives:
Yes, all pensioners are packed off
To the welcoming machine,
Where their hats and heads are hacked off
By a rusty guillotine.
Doctors rifle through their purses,
Cursing if they're short or skint.
Elsewhere teams of noxious nurses
Frisk them (some have made a mint).
When the OAPs have bought it,
Stripped of ID and address,
They are very quickly sorted
By our ruthless NHS.
Open secret how we treat them,
When they're seventy or more:
Orderlies and cleaners eat them,
Chewing on them while they're raw.
Sometimes they are dunked in batter;
Sometimes they are soaked in spice.
And that's because it doesn't matter:
Healthcare means they pay the price.
America, your gab and gas is
Bollocks of the kind just read,
What about your huddled masses,
Already quick, already dead?
