'' That Way We Never Get Caught '' Poem by Bri Mar

The life of a poor politician,
Puts us under suspicion,
With the rules we comply, you we'd never decry,
We do not believe in contrition.

The wages paid are so rotten,
Our expenses you claim are ill gotten,
You may say it's uncouth, that we don't tell the truth,
But we know it will soon be forgotten.

After every election,
When you have made your selection,
Manifestos are binned so what, we have sinned,
They just need a little correction.

Each and every promise that's made,
To action them that is forbade,
The politician that rules, think the electorate are fools,
None of you would make the grade.

Subsidised food and drink,
To poverty yes there's a link,
This we cannot afford, so take that on board,
Our arguments are just so succinct.

At PMQs we put on a show,
Now this may come as a blow,
In the politics game we are all much the same,
The truth is we don't want you to know.

The next time you go out to vote,
You'll hear every one of us gloat,
These so called high flyers are all bloody liars,
They should hang a rope round their throat.

At times you do leave us distraught,
Making complaints about what we have bought,
Like our defences it's claimed on expenses,

‘' That Way We Never Get Caught ‘'