Song Of The Six Hundred M.P.'s - Poem by Ezra Pound
‘We are 'ere met together
in this momentous hower,
Ter lick th' bankers' dirty boots
an' keep the Bank in power.’
We are 'ere met together
ter grind the same old axes
And keep the people in its place
a'payin' us the taxes.
We are six hundred beefy men
(but mostly gas and suet)
An’ every year we meet to let
some other feller do it.'
I see their 'igh 'ats on the seats
an' them sprawling on the benches
And thinks about a Rowton 'ouse
and a lot of small street stenches.
'O Britain, muvver of parliaments,
'ave you seen yer larst sweet litter?
Could yeh swap th' brains of orl this lot
fer 'arft a pint o' bitter?'
‘I couldn't,' she sez, ‘an' I aint tried,
They're me own,' she sez to me,
‘As footlin' a lot as was ever spawned
to defend democracy.'
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