One Way Out
We have to work like Asian
We have to work like Yank
Must meet each work occasion
Like brand new armour tank
We must not be so idle
We must do hard hard work
We must wear bit and bridle
All income is a perk
Poor Mr. Hunt and Missus
She is of Chinese birth
We don’t want her to diss us
Must show what we are worth
Yes we worth top yen
Yes we worth top dollar
Must score eleven out of ten
Or face eternal squalor
But there, we're not as poor as peas
We have a micro-wave
Unless we come from north of Tees
Where all is early grave
No matter that, for Northern folk
Have all a mobile phone
And therefore are they never broke
Nor starving to the bone
And anyway we fetch up
In hospice oh so kind
We may die in the sweatshop
But never never mind
This is a lovely place to die
For life is back to front
Working hard we wave goodbye
Oh thank you Mr. Hunt!
Click here for a Telegraph article (Sugar)
Click here for a New Statesman article (Hunt)
Click here for a Guardian article (death)
