Alf’s Tenth Bit

WIND Scarce and thin, scarce and thin The government's excuse, Never at all will they do Aught of the slightest use. Over the dying half-wits blow, Over the empty-headed, and the slow Marchers, not getting forwarder, While Ramsay MacDonald sleeps, sleeps. Fester and rot, fester and rot, And angle and tergiversate One thing among all things you will not Do, that is: think, before it's too late. Election will not come very soon, And those born with a silver spoon, Will keep it a little longer, Until the mind of the old nation gets a little stronger.