by Chris Norris
There’s rich and poor folk, those that just get by
And blokes who trouser billions solitaire.
Don’t fall for trickle-down, that bosses’ lie:
Do something useful, cull a billionaire!
Make no mistake: they thrive when paupers die.
Jungle or stock-exchange, the lion’s share
Is theirs who judge all life’s transactions by
This maxim: risk a mauling if you dare!
That Elon Musk, that really creepy guy
With all the billions he’s got stashed somewhere –
It’s him and his lot sucking you lot dry
And whispering ‘starve to death, for all we care!’.
They’ll see the ice-caps melt, the whole earth fry,
Before it strikes them there’s a world out there
And lives that livers of them rate as high
As Elon rates a well-timed Wall-Street bear.
No question: standard market rules apply.
While some few prosper millions must declare
Bankruptcy, vagrancy, or – eye-to-eye
With starving kids – just terminal despair.
No thought of them, the plebs he’ll overfly
For fun by private jet and fill the air
With noxious vapours that pollute their sky,
Flood coastal plains, and leave their forests bare.
Just harken to them – losers! – as they cry
For justice, recompense or, if they dare,
Some more effectual method to deny
The plutocrats their global droit de guerre.
Just grab it back, their huge slice of the pie,
And spread it round – then if there’s some to spare –
Use Elon’s junk-site X to notify
The world: behold, ye wealthy, and beware!
