Baroness thatcher baroness thatcher
What a bloody pity the ira didn’t
Catch ya for it only would have been
A little scar now the wounds of
England are open so far there is
No chance of healing no chance
Of concealing the fact we are cut
To the bone and while the body
Does moan the surgeon goes right
On ahead digging in deep looking
At the meat thinking we can have
That when it’s dead
Baroness thatcher baroness thatcher
What a pity the British public
Did not see what those Irish fellows
Knew to be your working the demise
Of the economy so your kin could
Sell gold abroad and thus continue
To horde in your homes and factories
Baroness thatcher baroness thatcher
Gave everyone a home to say now
I got ya go on strike if you dare
I’ll retake that mortgage and not
Give a care as they toss you on
The street for the likes of you fools
I’ll never meet as I drive around in
My car and if I’m on street I’ll never
Walk far for dulwhich is my
Conservative playground but the
Count of rutland is the English
Home to the likes of me
Baroness thatcher baroness thatcher
On a dark winter night I’d like to
Catch ya and give my dog a bone

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