There's a body in the white goods

Somewhere in the backwoods 

Inflated with inflation

It drowned in new taxation 

 

The hands of power strangle

Poking from every angle

Moulding it weak & small 

A cock without its balls 

 

Limp in forced compliance 

Devoid of all defiance 

Its decomposition, 

deemed too unstable 

‘Dispose of carefully’ 

it read on the label