In the small of the back garden I have pitched my little tent and it's down to the penny pinching of this and every other government that I'm here and can't afford a proper place to live.
It's supposed to be some give and take but it looks like it's all take to me and I will never see the inside of a proper home,can't get a loan,ain't got employment,a tent is no place for enjoyment and no one wants to know.

I could go to the council,try to beg a hostel,a bit like pass the parcel and not everybody wins,but I keep my chin high,shoes clean,eyes dry,and that lot won't have a clue about how blue I really am,why give them jam as well,**** 'em all and they can go to hell.

I could go and sell my body,make some money,nothing funny,the medical fraternity would have a ball dissecting me and putting my bits into jars,and with the money I would earn,I could advance and get a turn at living high upon the hog,
Or I could get a dog,teach it to sit and beg,raise its leg and **** on parliament which I'm sure never meant for me, to end up in a tent.

And Macmillan said,
we've  'never had it so good'
but he would
wouldn't he.