This was written by a friend of mine who wants to remain nameless but wanted this poem out never the less:
for those unfamiliar with NZ politics, John Key’s spin merchants have, at times, projected the image of John as the kind of bloke you’d have a beer with.
I’m going to have a beer with John,
It’s high up on my list,
He’s that sort of good fellow,
He’s slightly better, pissed.
You have to plan to hide his keys,
His signals are outrageous,
He couldn’t steer a pedal-car
He’s too limp in the wrist
Can’t crack the billionaire club,
His fortune’s too exiguous,
He fears he’ll be required, one day,
To be a tad superfluous.
He’ll have a drink with anyone,
He’s one of us, he’ll drink with me
Baby’s blood for preference,
Or, failing that, plain G&T
He doesn’t mind it either way
If I’m blue-blood or just blue collar’
He really doesn’t give a shit,
If I exist in squalor.
I’ll shout our John his first one’
And his second, and his third,
Don’t want to drink a beer that’s bought
With money stolen, not well-earned.
With money made from trickery,
Derivatives and usury,
Just fancy names for stealing
For his fat controllers, more,
And keep the honest worker poor.
I’m really looking forward to this beer.
Because of John, it’s double-price
But having drunk, and some to follow,
We’ll be mates!
Bygones, bygones will be!
And harsh reality
Obscured in soft miasma of