ETON ELITE

 

Eton Elite, Eton Elite

Bottles of Bollinger at our feet.

We’ve a God given right to rule our land.

Arrogance and Confidence go hand in hand.

We mix it in the Chem lab when teacher isn’t looking.

A glug full of that, the nearest prole gets a fooking.

There’s a couple of weak ones and sigma males,

but we ship them out to Harrow and Wales.

We’ve been here a long time and the Trots aren’t unseating us,

Remember what Margaret Thatcher said about sitting on a bus?

Private Ownership and Shareholders are Boss.

Don’t mention second homes in Greece, you’ll make Stanley cross.

Daddy has got a fleet of combine harvesters and he’s keeping the key

because that is the secret to Capitalism, greed and avarice you see.

 

Eton Elite, Eton Elite

Flunkies and fags showing us to our seats.

Feet up on our inferiors, never mind our seniors.

Sowing the seeds of us and them, the victims of our world view lined up at the Crem.

“Crikey, you’d think that being rich was a crime.

You need to get up off your arse little man and work. Is that the line?”

On a clear day, you can see Windsor from here,

our patrons, our royalty are really quite dear.

We try not to look at the high-rise flats as we enter London town.

Who would want to live in one of those unless you were down?

Wilfred got caught in the crossfire of a 41-gun salute.

He’d gone in as an old cockney in mufti in a new whistle and flute.

The used shell went bang and blew off his head.

And now like the Duke of Edinburgh he was officially dead.