Family & Relationships3 mins ago
A Wee Poem
32 Answers
‘Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the nation,
There was misery, poverty and great deprivation.
Some stockings were empty, some fridges were bare, The heating turned off,
Little money to spare.
Boris Johnson was cosy, and quaffing champagne. Cognac and Port, so he’s feeling no pain.
Stuffing his chops on goose flesh and gammon.
Caviar, Stilton and the finest smoked Scottish salmon.
The homeless are shivering in cardboard containers. Ex-Servicemen, youngsters, both Leave and Remainers.
The nurses and doctors are still searching for beds. With a shortage of staff, of money and meds.
The Mogg’s singing carols with moguls and bankers. Hedge funders, financiers and various w*nkers. Admiring his baubles and pulling his crackers. Rejoicing that he's got us all by the *nackers.
Your Gran’s in the corridor, still waiting on the trolley.
While the Chancellor’s counting the last of his lolly. And Grandad’s in pieces, stemming his tears.
Though they’ve paid their dues these past sixty years
But hey, Gove’s on the sherry and is quite off his ( . )( . ).
While his missus is battered and doing the splits.
Drunken ID Smith is a singing along with the Pogues,
With the rest of the mob and a few Russian rogues.
The kids who are dreaming of gifts in the morning won’t get them- their benefits were stopped without any warning.
While those millionaires, who's dosh is in off-shore accounts,
Will be rubbing their hands as the total mounts.
And the Waspi woman is alone in her kitchen,
Has long given up on Dancer and Blitzen.
She was robbed of her pension, they don’t give a
There was misery, poverty and great deprivation.
Some stockings were empty, some fridges were bare, The heating turned off,
Little money to spare.
Boris Johnson was cosy, and quaffing champagne. Cognac and Port, so he’s feeling no pain.
Stuffing his chops on goose flesh and gammon.
Caviar, Stilton and the finest smoked Scottish salmon.
The homeless are shivering in cardboard containers. Ex-Servicemen, youngsters, both Leave and Remainers.
The nurses and doctors are still searching for beds. With a shortage of staff, of money and meds.
The Mogg’s singing carols with moguls and bankers. Hedge funders, financiers and various w*nkers. Admiring his baubles and pulling his crackers. Rejoicing that he's got us all by the *nackers.
Your Gran’s in the corridor, still waiting on the trolley.
While the Chancellor’s counting the last of his lolly. And Grandad’s in pieces, stemming his tears.
Though they’ve paid their dues these past sixty years
But hey, Gove’s on the sherry and is quite off his ( . )( . ).
While his missus is battered and doing the splits.
Drunken ID Smith is a singing along with the Pogues,
With the rest of the mob and a few Russian rogues.
The kids who are dreaming of gifts in the morning won’t get them- their benefits were stopped without any warning.
While those millionaires, who's dosh is in off-shore accounts,
Will be rubbing their hands as the total mounts.
And the Waspi woman is alone in her kitchen,
Has long given up on Dancer and Blitzen.
She was robbed of her pension, they don’t give a
Answers
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It could have any names from any party, it could be me or you or millions of other people who won't be starving this Christmas. I don't suppose it's ever crossed your mind that some people have these things because they've worked hard for it and some who don't have never done a day's work in their lives. It's the way of the world.
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