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(Don't) Help The Aged

from Life & I by Dusty Limits

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lyrics

(DON'T) HELP THE AGED

Many centuries ago, a wise man name of 'Kong',
Confused us with Confucianism.
He said 'respect your elders', well I'm sorry, he was wrong.
The time has passed for altruism.
For thanks to modern medical techniques,
We're burdened by these quaint living antiques.
So...

Don't help the aged, speed them on their way.
They've had their fun, they've had their fill, they've had their fecking day.
They're like a wrinkled berry when you've squeezed out all the juice,
So don't help the aged, they serve no sodding use.

Whining all the time how things were better in their day,
And saying all the boring things that geriatrics say, like:
'It's too loud!' and 'you're so rude!' and 'I can't see to drive.'
Stop your silly whining, love, be glad you're still alive!

I'm not a whinger but the Baby Boomer boom,
Has used up all the real-estate and left no sodding room
To swing a cat or come to that to park a bloody broom,
So don't help the aged, speed them to their doom.

They bought their council houses and they've driven up the price.
At this rate I will never own a flat that's vaguely nice.
And though it is a cliché, they do really smell of wee,
Though on a drunken Friday you might say the same of me.

Every time I hear some poor old dear has 'had a fall',
I just wonder why the silly sod was standing up at all.
Selfish gits, clinging on and cheating all their heirs,
So don't help the aged. Push them down the stairs.

If you are aged and you have some cash to sport,
And you wonder, 'should we help the kids, or build a tennis court?
Or buy a Persian carpet or head off to a resort?'
Just remember it's your kids who get to cut your life-support.

The Winter Fuel Allowance, well it makes my blood fair boil.
Subsidising heating when we're running out of oil.
They say that that which does not kill you only makes you stronger,
So let them freeze, who gives a toss? They cannot vote much longer.

And speaking of other people who can't vote...

Don't help the homeless, let the bastards starve.
We've spent our precious working lives trying our best to carve
A cosy nook just for ourselves. It's down in the Algarve.
So don't help the homeless, they get what they desarve.

And don't you help the sickly, my God they make me squirm,
Sucking on the NHS like parasitic worms.
If they were meant to be alive they wouldn't be half-dead,
So don't help the sickly, give me the cash instead.

'Cos in our brave society it's each man on his own.
We don't need some addled codger, or some old wizened crone.
Old and wise they may be but they're costing me and you,
So don't help the aged. Boil them down for glue!

Don't help the feeble, let the weaklings fold,
As we march on to a brighter tomorrow, young and strong and bold.
March with our children, as Ayn Rand foretold.
Marching on the corpses of the weak, and sick, and old.
Hurrah! Hurrah!

Don't help the aged, the country's nearly broke.
We don't need to prop up all this venerable oak, no!
Cut down the dead wood, and throw it on the fire.
Don't help the aged, don't help the sickly, don't help the feeble.
Just let the cunts expire!

It'll pay for a tax-cut.

Hoorah!

credits

from Life & I, released July 19, 2018

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Michael Roulston UK

Michael Roulston is a composer, accompanist, arranger and actor-musician with a passion for cabaret.

www.michaelroulston.co.uk

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