You WILL work till you're 70, <br />all you sloggers. <br />My government can't afford <br />to pay you a pension, <br />and I'd like to mention <br />I need my expenses <br />and recompenses. <br />And those poor young things <br />pushing buggies and things <br />need food <br />and fags <br />and we need to support the dads <br />(if we know who they are) . <br />Asylum seekers, <br />foreign speakers, <br />benefit tweakers <br />and the like <br />need a hike <br />into comfortable living. <br />So you'll need to be giving <br />your ALL <br />for all. <br />Poor dears, <br />no jobs or careers, <br />they can't live on fresh air, you know. <br />So off you go, <br />work till the grave. <br />We will shave <br />every penny off you. <br />I have people to support <br />and I don't want to be short <br />of a bob or two myself. <br /> <br />Gordon Black, MP. <br />Just off to claim my expenses. I'm entitled to mortgage payments on my mansion...em I mean house...in London. And I need to carpet my house in the country. My cars need replacing and how could I do all that on a measly MP's wages, I ask you?<br /><br />Francesca Johnson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/work-till-the-grave/
