levelling up!

levelling up!
levelling up!
from Lloyds of London to the Cheltenham Cup
welcome to UK plc
all for one and an extra one for me

where everyone’s a squiffy squillionaire
offshore schemer and property heir
cubs in the mouths of pater and mater
bringing them swinging by their bright blond hair
to the safety of the family lair
in Eton Wick, Buckinghamshire

levelling up!
levelling up!
a stripe of blood and a stirrup cup
for every golden, hyphenated child
running free in the Hunter wellington wild

a place where everyone’s equally called
to Marlborough College or old St Pauls
to debut at the Oxbridge ball
and intern for next to nothing at all
at the family firm on the thirteenth floor
with all your options rigorously explored

levelling up!
levelling up!
with a toast to the boys of the Bullingdon club
the monogrammed button paragons
patrolling the upper echelons

because all it takes for your Alexander or Tamara
is a guiding hand and a swipe of mascara
some Insta pics from the shores of Bora Bora
to maintain their fit and fabulous aura
and somewhere bougie to swing the tiara

levelling up!
levelling up!
personal trainers and body scrubs
Gucci guys and polo queens
in OK! (I’m Calling Security!) magazine

all of which wouldn’t be so bad
if the general population hadn’t been had
by a moneyed elite with a long proboscis
sucking the life from the public pocket
levelling up – such an empty phrase
when the working class is the one that pays
but hey, I’m genuinely sorry to say
your moaning’s just graffiti on the arse-end of posterity
so zip it, old chap – and here’s to Austerity!

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