Sort of melody for “Liebeslied”
Hold the line, boys, here they come:
We’re outnumbered four score to one.
Our ranks ruthlessly gutted, bled and thinned
too long we’ve let them think they’ll win.
The Free Shit Army, the fascist left,
the snowflakes melt while we mete out death.
With the Fat Cat psychos pulling the strings
time to make ’em feel how privilege stings.
Time to break out of our silver cages,
Time to show ’em how privilege rages.
All wars are banker’s wars, like fat maggots they feed.
Countin’ out their profits whilst the divided fight and bleed.
©26.10.2017 Andrew Robert Chapman
Rubbin’ their hands with glee, whilst the xx bleed.
like leeches and vultures they’re out to win.