What is this monster we did create?
A land for the rich and the educated
Where the small man has little or none at all
The junkie shoots up, emanciated
In a stairwell or alleyway
They walk zobified on the street
We avoid their eyes, as they ask for change
And quicken past when we meet...
The great unwashed of the working classes
Whe were reared bitter, wild, without hope
Alcohol was their parents escape route
Heroin is their way to cope...
A land that does not make jobs
And jobs for life for those who leave school
Serves the rich, and just the rich
As good as if a dictatorship did rule
For it cares as little for its people
Who care less for it and commit crime
To live, as it always gets them money
And for them and their kind always has time...
If we wish to change our land
Shiney office blocks and cool cafes will not do
Buy jobs for life - a future - for the little man
Will change this land heretofor we knew...
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