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
