For every craven decision
undecided, so chums can slide,
callous in pursuit of cash,
kings of the UK trash pile

Borders discussed through arrogant huffs
on last minute deadlines that always die
rolling from meeting to meeting
indicated by all that foreign wine and cheese:
such is the country, such is the disease

To give a thing is about as nice as having it at first
The shallow joy of helping out, with which we're gladly cursed
A man on the street, or the whole third world, we'll often spare a dime
But those who need it most of all will end up doing time

There's rules for accepting given aid and what it will allow
But if the point's to give out help, does it really matter how?
If one is to give, then one has to take, it's simple but it's true
And if you really care as much as you say, then does it matter who?

Banks will drop millions a year on children who are in need
But if you're hungry enough to steal a cent, you're punished for your greed
So much is given to so many, it's hard to know who gets what
So what if someone not entitled dips in? - They shouldn't be denied a cut

If you're offering help with a plan in mind, you have to accept how it goes
And if they **** it all away, remember, it's a risk that you chose
You agree to the fact that it might not go well, and so we're here again
Does it matter once you've chosen to help, if it goes to a foe or a friend?

If the initial idea was to help a soul, then be happy just to try
And if a percent or two gets stolen away, you'll have no reason to cry
And with that, I'll be on my way now... As it's almost ten to three
Not gonna' call, sorry I said I would, but hey - At least you're helping me

John is what hookers call
Their customers in this land.
They make him feel like a king
And tell him he is grand.
They fuss over him like royalty
As long as he pays the bills.
His habits can make stomachs turn.
He’d be dead, if looks could ****.

King John, the biggest ******
To have ever worn the crown
If he were an office building
He would quickly be torn down.
Nobody ever thinks of him
In any pleasant kind of way.
If he has a need he needs filled
No freebies, he has to pay.

If there is some slimy way
To speak a simple sentence
He will choose it, and insult
With no thought of repentance.
He owes his wealth to ***** tricks
And that is just what he is.
An absolute and total waste
Of his awful father’s ****.

King John sits on his throne
Gathers soulless souls around.
He laughs at those who take his bribes;
A particularly ugly sound.
He has no conscience, so doesn’t see
How quickly his presence can pall.
He is the king of a kind of hell;
No kind of royalty at all.