A housing officer twenty two years

Seen it all

I saw her tears

for a tenant's dismay.

 

Where are the poor to find

Eight, nine pounds a week?

Out of their mind?

Government are out of theirs.

 

Smaller places are not there

or cost more.

Do they think, do they care?

Doesn't seem so.

 

The party of the family, how sick

No equal marriage

And now this three-card trick -

the grandkids can't stay.

 

Sometimes the respite's vital

it can even keep the show on the road

But the bastards in London with their titles

au pairs and nannies choose not to know

 

Because it's easier than building new flats

Easy to clobber the poor

The mess was caused by fat cats.

We're all in it together?

I don't think so.

 

The party of lucky families, "strivers"

Anyone on benefits doesn't count

They're all skivers

but hang on a mo.

 

Seventy percent of the 600,000 affected are in work

slaving for crap money

They don't shirk.

And they can vote

 

And to bailiffs they can say no.

In their thousands. What then?

And anyway where would they go?

Bring back the workhouse?

 

Go on then demonise the so-called scroungers

with your cronies in the press.

Safe in your comfortable lounges

in those big Home Counties houses.

 

Setting aside the mansion tax. Neat.

A so-called progressive party

Start worrying about your seats.

We're all in this together.

I don't think so.