Fickle People
by Lila Broadhurst
Oh I'm sick of the nicey-nice people
With silver words on their tongue,
Raising their whitewashed eyebrows
On a world that is all 'gone wrong'.
And I'm sick of the pretty people
With their pretty houses and lives,
With their pretty children, and pretty cars,
And pretty, pretty wives.
I'm sick of the goody-good people
With their anthems of 'charity',
All pious sweet until they retreat
To their mansions of Luxury.
And I'm sick of the people hell bent to impress,
They bore me, they bore me, they bore me -
Pathetic shells full of emptiness,
And silently rattling 'adore me'
Ten thousand goody-good pretty and nice
I would more than gladly sacrifice,
For just one genuine heart of oak;
The boast of old England - the humble folk.