Georgie Porgy, little piggie
Got his fingers in the pie
But won’t pull out a plum to help
The hungry hordes get by.

You know full well that ninety-five
Is only for your grossest grosses
Else you’d blow the lot on wives
And truffles, booze, and overdoses.

For all your gurus, chants and lamas,
Still you stash in the Bahamas,
Cheating hospitals their due.
It’s time to hang a sign on you.

You love to drive your DB5
On roads you hate to pay for,
Or sit and sulk in Friar Park
And wonder why you stay for –

Yet stay you do, while John and Ringo
Languish in their funky Swiss bliss.
(I wonder what they have to hide,
To cause their monkey business ?)

Georgie Porgy, whinging still,
While boasting ‘look how big’s my bill’.
They’ll never tax your feet, though –
You’ll be fine.

Georgie, Georgie, we were talking
’Bout the folk who gain the world
But lose their soul to I Me Mine.

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