An un-elected weasel, is running loose in our ranks;
Giving away our gold, and propping up the banks;
He’s reaped our taxes, and pillaged our pensions;
And he thinks he’s done it, with the best intentions,
And to make matters worse, he really wants our thanks.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Nice one Brian. I take it you're meaning Gordon here. They're all singing off the same hymn sheet, and Margaret Thatcher published it. A great poem with a lot of meaning.