You may talk o' your fair share
When you're quartered safe out there,
An’ you send for more champagne an’ pension pot it.
But when it comes to money,
We no longer find it funny
When you take the bleedin’ shirt off us that’s got it.
Now, in Blighty’s rainy clime,
Where we now all spend our time
A bailin’ out 'Er Majesty the Queen,
Of all them smug-faced crew,
The vilest man I knew,
Was that mercenary scoundrel Fred Goodwin.
It was, "Win! Win! Win!”
For that man of straw, Fred Goodwin.
"Hi! Slip me even more!
"Money! Send it straight offshore”
The gimlet-eyed, slight-handed Fred Goodwin.
The brazen face ‘e wore
We all ‘ad seen before,
An’ could drive Jehovah’s Witnesses to gin.
For the unrepentant sinner,
‘E would always be the winner.
While the idle workers lay
Watching Sky TV all day,
An’ while the common weal was driven to the wall.
‘E shouted, "Cheery bye!"
After bleedin’ us all dry.
Then ‘e stopped because ‘e couldn't stash it all.
It was "Win! Win! Win!”
"Look at the mess you’ve left us in.
“We’ll take that gong an’ bin it
"Some would string you up this minute
"If you don't give back the money, Fred Goodwin!"
But ‘e’d take an' carry on
Till the last pennies were gone
An' 'e didn't seem to ‘ave an ounce of shame.
When we said “You’ve ‘ad enough”,
In a Gawd almighty huff,
’E refused to answer calls ever again.
With the press men on 'is back,
'E would dodge any attack,
An' carried on even though ‘e ‘ad retired.
For 'is slimy, dirty 'ide
Was even nastier inside
An’ 'e took ‘is leave before ‘e could be fired.
It was "Win! Win! Win!"
With the Footsie shares flat-linin’ on the screen.
When the banks crashed on the shore,
The blighters simply asked for more,
An’ gave fourteen point two million to Goodwin.
I sha'n't forget the night
Nor the pitifully poor fight
We put up when we found ‘e’d done us in.
We was chokin' mad with rage
An' the man who took our wage
Was our good old grinnin', gruntin' Fred Goodwin.
'E lifted up ‘is pay,
An' ‘e bade us all good day, an' 'e stuck two fingers at our ventin’ spleen.
‘E was craven an’ ‘e stunk,
An’ of all the drinks I've drunk,
The most disgusting was the one from Fred Goodwin.
It was "Win! Win! Win!
“'Ere's a beggar with a brand new nicked flat-screen.
"'E's smashin’ up the shops,
"An' chuckin’ kerb stones at the cops.”
An’ all can be traced back to Fred Goodwin!
‘E scurried off abroad,
The greedy, miserable sod.
Not one bullet pierced ‘is armoured leather skin.
'E’d blown the safe door wide
An' we shook our fists an’ cried,
"We 'ope you're chokin’ on it now, Mister Goodwin.”
If we meet again some day
By Gawd, I swear some way
It’ll be more than double drill an’ no canteen.
You'll be squattin' on the coals,
Beggin' drink from poor damned souls,
An’ you’ll die of thirst in hell, Sir Fred Goodwin.
“Yes, Win! Win! Win!
“You parasitic vulture, Fred Goodwin!
“Though, you’ve robbed us an’ betrayed us,
“By the livin' Gawd that made us,
“We are better men than you, Sir Fred Goodwin!”
Martin E. Morrison
February 22nd 2012