Clang!, the doors of power banging
New henchmen busy re-arranging
For the next brigandage ganging:
The endless power exchanging
Now see them randy and dancing
Belching from the filth of tanking
Moguls spend the whole day banking
And then comes the missile landing!
With nemesis overhead ranging
To nip those squarely wanting.

Trailing at the rear in ranking
Masses are yet merely panting
Why can’t ye hear them chanting?
No more fads transplanting
This idyll is rabble slanting
Masses shouldn’t grow on banting:
Bone-dry with hunger hanging
I can still hear them chanting:
“We’ve nothing to go home thanking!”