Head Boy Daveybloke Looked Out

Head Boy Daveybloke looked out,
On the mass of Childer.
Bullingdons were sprawled about,
Toasting Maggie Hilda.
Brightly gleamed the Bloke that night,
Of the Falklands dreaming,
When a rich man came in sight,
For a bonus screaming.

"Hither, Vincent, stand by me,
If thou know'st it, telling:
Yonder banker, who is he?
Where and what his dwelling?"
"Sire, he lives a square mile hence
In our holy City."
"Thank you; bugger off now, Vince."
For the Bloke was witty.

"Bugger off and halt thy whine.
Bring me tax cuts hither.
Hurry up, thou tubby swine,
Ere the markets wither."
Fag and Head Boy, right they went,
Right they went together,
Through the poor folk's loud lament
And the British weather.

"Sire, the chavs are round us now,
And are far from quiet.
Let us sneak off from this row,
Lest there be a riot."
"Strut as I do, craven scum;
Let them know who's paying.
And if thou shouldst fail to come,
Buttocks I'll be flaying."

In his Head Boy's steps he trod,
Spurned the people's ventures,
Noting how the little sod
Kicked them in the dentures.
Therefore, Christian men, be sure,
As the Bloke relaxes,
Ye who now do tax the poor
Shall be spared from taxes.