Thatcher
Don't ever forget Mrs Thatcher
Union basher council house trasher
Privatiser class divider
Stealer of the family silver
With the police behind her on she rode forth
Mounted on her iron horse
With a piece of jagged glass
Rammed up her tight patrician arse.
The state organised your funeral
But the people stayed away
It was only the Daily Mail
That had anything good to say about ya
She started a war to save her bacon
And left us all a divided nation
Told us to look after number one
Whilst turning it all to dust and stone
She became a slack jawed sick old lady
The very ones that she despised
And there were many one that day
Who cheered when they heard she'd died
The state organised your funeral
But the people stayed away
It was only the Daily Mail
That had anything good to say
Don't forget Mrs Thatcher
It all started with you, you old milk snatcher
Said there's no such thing as society
Now we're governed by your progeny
Trying to fill your high heeled shoes
Fiddling away while Britain burns
Little chickens coming home to roost yeah
All your little chickens are coming home to roost
The state organised your funeral
But the people stayed away
It was only the Daily Mail
That had anything good to say
Cock a doodle do
Union basher council house trasher
Privatiser class divider
Stealer of the family silver
With the police behind her on she rode forth
Mounted on her iron horse
With a piece of jagged glass
Rammed up her tight patrician arse.
The state organised your funeral
But the people stayed away
It was only the Daily Mail
That had anything good to say about ya
She started a war to save her bacon
And left us all a divided nation
Told us to look after number one
Whilst turning it all to dust and stone
She became a slack jawed sick old lady
The very ones that she despised
And there were many one that day
Who cheered when they heard she'd died
The state organised your funeral
But the people stayed away
It was only the Daily Mail
That had anything good to say
Don't forget Mrs Thatcher
It all started with you, you old milk snatcher
Said there's no such thing as society
Now we're governed by your progeny
Trying to fill your high heeled shoes
Fiddling away while Britain burns
Little chickens coming home to roost yeah
All your little chickens are coming home to roost
The state organised your funeral
But the people stayed away
It was only the Daily Mail
That had anything good to say
Cock a doodle do
Credits
Writer(s): Susan Lewis
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