Though times are hard, decisions tough,
Enough can sometimes be enough.
We all have breaking points, you know -
A duck unhoused, a servant slow;
Or taxes constituting theft
Of hard-earned loot that Daddy left;
And if there is one single thing
That really chaps my sphincter-ring,
It is the thought of lower races
Who simply do not know their places.
Their accents odd, their clothing raggy,
Haunting the ruins left by Maggie,
They live like duchesses and kings
On benefits or some such things;
And even those who do not shirk
Do strange and useless types of work.
Why, for example, should one teach
More than the rudiments of speech
To little oiks who'll get themselves
A cushy number stacking shelves?
And is it really fair that I,
My chubby cheeks and old school tie,
Must needs put up, day in, day out,
With northern folk who fly about?
© Philip Challinor
Oliver Letwin 'makes Sheffield family holiday jibe'
My Weblog: http://www.thecurmudgeonly.blogspot.com
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