Dirty Words
Listen, you free-trading youngsters,
with your horribly capital sneers;
you market economy punksters,
pin back your stock exchange ears.
I'm talking your own footsie patter,
and I'm right in your dividend face –
so less of your high-yielding chatter.
You're a national surplus disgrace.
Yes you, you expense account shower,
you credit-faced, teenager jonahs,
once I win some turnover power,
you'll do national service – and bonus
to you, too – you pension-fund perk.
Don't tell me to come prosper off it.
Leave school, do some hard gravy work.
Disagree? Read my lips, and go profit.
