The horse-faced ho looked out Surveyed her new lands Held her husband's hand And declared That the wages of sometime- Declared sin Were quite alright really: Castles and palaces Deferent lads and lasses Forelocks tugged And colonies inspected The gin all iced And company vetted The banquets lavish And the parties extended. It is a wonder that when Pulling herself up That she didn't trip on All the bones and skulls Of discarded and denied Broken backed Slaves that the empire Was built on. However I suppose When to the manor-born The suffering becomes So much background Noise To dismiss the unpaid And enslaved "Help" is no more to Those at the Top of this pyramid scheme Than to brush away A lingering irritant And draw up a new Oppressive white Wet dream. Her gormless husband Danced on his mother's Grave. A small jig called "Finally My turn!" Along with a proper Reprise of "Ashes in the urn". And all the little people Who have been brainwashed White washed Controlled and deceived Convinced themselves That it was only proper To bend themselves Double at the knee Whilst wailing and mourning The old age unforming And attaching unearnt Significance to a Royal fantasy tampon's Sometime recipient.