The Fat Cats are Fucked

In the high-summer of my 74th year, the clouds were massing on the horizon
My death day loomed closer, was it to be cancer, ague, respiratory failure or poison
That set the seal and fulfilled the wishes of all the unsanitary cunts and bitches
From whom I now disengage with pleasure.
Seen the moon landings not impressed
Seen robots doing most of the work, couldn’t care less.
Raised my concerns re the sewage fest
Followed the rules and did my best.
But now nature’s largesse and mine have reached a pitch
We have to take radical action against the rich
Reform their notions of what it is
To be poor and hungry, insecure; insurrection
Now! Take control of the means of production.
Promote the cleaners, the delivery drivers, the refuse collectors
The doctors and nurses, carers, whistleblowers and growers.
Universal Basic Income for the disabled, the too ill to work at least!
The farmer, the librarian, the laundry workers who clean the shitty sheets,
The workers, road hauliers, the engine drivers, the exploited young
The crack-heads, the old deadheads, the ones who bang the drum.
The world is upside down a trend that needs to be bucked
More fair shares, more for the better job done, deconstruct
This revolving door to business of a government corrupt
We know what you are doing,
And the Fat Cats are Fucked.