Politicians, what are you about,
You are supposed to sort things out,
In Parliament, the seat of power,
Well, lets face it, you're a real shower,
For do you govern the country right
On our behalf, I don't think so, quite,
We really do not have a chance,
Listening to you, there's no advance.
It seems the simplest things we need
If left to you, all go to seed,
We wait, we wonder, we can't see why
It takes so long - Oh, how we sigh,
When all your talking comes to now't,
If left to us, we'd well sort out
These problems of our country's ills,
Without resorting to Westminster's pills.
Members of Parliament, what's your game,
Come along now, take the blame,
We put you in your higher state,
And yet to us you can't relate,
It seems you fleece our pockets well,
And, in due course, your chests you swell,
You give no answers, talk in riddles,
There you stand, playing your 'fiddles'.
At question time when doing 'biz',
Hot air! Hot air! That's all it is,
We vote you in, we feel disgraced,
We need to have our brains replaced,
So off you go, it's time to leave,
No good to stay, when you can't achieve,
So who'd run the country. well, that's well known,
It's men running business's of their own.
© Ernestine Northover