It’s the Season of Sorry, the Year of The Splat / the country in chains, the Cat in the Hat / dreaming of heating & stuff like that / while traders call waiters with finger snaps / for fat cigars and a round of schnapps / chin chin old boy for the cool collapse / stuffing their pockets with Scooby snacks / while politicians lube-up, ready to practise / on the people least able to bear the taxes / okay, relax – this won’t hurt / we’ll go nice n’slow as we lovingly convert / public services to public desert / and we do so thank you for your effort / yeah? been there, done that, got the t-shirt

I’m a pay rise in amber, a fossilised note / I’m a stand-in Lansbury on Murder She Wrote / the iceberg lettuce that sank the boat / eeny, meeny, minority vote / lock the gates and fill the moat / pack off your children somewhere remote / in God we trust but the rest we yoke / and greed thereto I plight thee my troth / fetch more butter ‘cos I think we’re toast

thought police don’t stop for lunch / a ham baton and a chocolate crunch / too busy being the worst of the bunch / ceaselessly waging their war on woke / cos truth’s in dispute and history’s broke / and not for the likes of you ordinary folk / certain words’ll make you choke / so stick to McFacts and Diet Coke / and try to sound a little more stoked / and whatever you do, don’t provoke us / hold that shit and stay focused / think of the positives / we’ll take care of where the profit is / (offshore accounts and safe depositories)

I’m a sarky old soak, a sneaky insider / a hot ghost laughing in the hadron collider / cackling we’re fifteen seconds from disaster / technicians sneering & saying who asked her

I’m too bright to look at, too rich to tax / handshakes, signatures, sealing wax / a corporate snort in a kevlar tux / putting on lippy on the lip of the vortex / but don’t freak out, don’t stress your cortex / take to the floor and I’ll show you some more steps / you can zumba with zombies, waltz with the dead / cha cha with changes and ballet with bread / we sympathise with how you’re feeling / now leave us alone for some insider dealing

I’m Wile E. Coyote running off the canyon / flapping his arms looking straight to camera