Hey, Mister Cameron, you posh rich nob,
How about for a minute you shut your blabbering gob,
And listen to the people, that you represent,
For these are the people who harbour resent,
Because you're ruining this country, we are no longer free.
How about, for a while, you live the life of me?

I'm just your average child here,
But as I'm growing up I fear,
That I'll be left jobless, unemployed,
And with that prospect ahead, you can bet I'm annoyed.
The trains aren't exactly cheap any more,
Neither are the pasties I buy at the store.
You haven't bought one for a while Mister Cameron,
So you can't exactly blabber on,
About being a huge pasty fan,
You're like "I went to the pasty shop in Leeds," that was your plan,
But that pasty shop hasn't been there for years,
And that just reinforced the fears,
That you're out of touch, and know fuck all.
We're struggling here, while you're having a ball.

Do you like being in charge? Do you feel the power?
Because we feel your grip on us every hour.
I hope to God you can save us now,
Because I haven't the foggiest idea how.