The kiddie-giggling boy-men types,

Who shape our tastes and fuel our gripes,

Are like a zebra with no stripes.

Their views today are painted on;

Those of the past are long, long gone.

 

They rule the culture like machines,

And serve up, bite-sized, on our screens,

An option menu for our dreams.

The bad ones will be swept away;

Nice shall prevail day after day.

 

They pose in Paris and Berlin

And spread around their gurning grin,

But won’t take fortune on the chin;

They seek out somebody to blame

And turn to mud the victim’s name.