They're fiddling the figures
they're cooking the books
they think nobody notices
because nobody looks,
but I see them paper traps
odd
numbers like
springing traps which
wraps it up
for me.


Fire in the hole.

We drink tainted water
they drink margaritas
the world teeters on,
on the brink.


High heels or hobnails
fishnets or tails
they've all got their
snouts
in the trough.

It goes on 'til it stops
when the cops come to
nick 'em
and who picks up the
pieces then?

House comes to order.

Chew
chew
that's what they do,
gnawing away at
the man's working day.

We call in the rat man
a fat man
from
Clapham,
he's no ******* use
to me,
things will be
or they'll not
I've got time to
watch it
and see.