On Her Majesty's Secretive Service
The name is Osborne, George Osborne:
The orchestra strikes up my tune.
My evil’s malarial, moz-borne;
I haven’t a heart to impugn.
I have a crush upon sterling –
Moneypenny. Love her to bits.
Here’s the policy I’ll be unfurling
To conquer the socialist twits.
The name is Osborne, George Osborne:
I sing with unmerited stealth
Each voter will weep that he was born
Although wait! “Inherited wealth!”
I am Her Majesty’s private,
Licensed to maim and to kill:
So here’s my new plan to connive at –
You will not fear death when you’re ill.
The name is Osborne, George Osborne:
When the middle class say, thanks a million,
They’ll mean, their inherited wads form
The future. Oh I am reptilian.
The ones who have never a fiver
Will perish like Oddjob and Jaws,
Every rich kid will be a survivor …
Let me drink in your glorious applause.
The name is Osborne, George Osborne:
You can bank all your family lucre –
You won’t be the bankrupts, dear frogspawn,
Or deprived of the family verruca –
007 insists, as you’re British,
That your wealth should expand and continue –
You’ll be smarmy and snooty and skittish
Once I’ve made sure this little slug’s in you.
Click here for a Guardian story (inheritance tax)
Click here for an Independent story (James Bond)
