Rules a plenty and all so we can maintain order of our art of thought
Express yourself through a template that someone else just published
Middle class lives, aspired and achieved and desired and lived
I will give you 50 lines today and 50 lines tomorrow and 50 more on your fucking birthday

No more romance without some cash and an agreement now 
Negotiate in the car or bar or online, but not in your heart
Order, Order, then vote for total futile chaos and Brexit disorder
So ban the staff that wanted to help that innocent lady in a bed

Boris and Jacob I hope you are going to enter this competition
Sir Phillip and your lovely wife what way would you vote, if you could?
Is it possible we could borrow some the money back from your dividend account? 
And Donald, did you know that over here we know sometimes you are right?

And what of the poor fools that follow the rules and still do not win
Are they happy enough to know they were judged without performing
Better to judge yourself, than by those in closed doors after deadlines
Chaos, disorderly reality, measured by rules no longer in meaning or love