Oh dear, look over there

It’s very clear, even from here

Plump young mum, another on the way

Buggy-shoving through a brand-new day

 

Can’t you tell, even at a glance

Little Errol stands littler chance

Tied securely in his prison pram

Tired, exhausted, silent as a lamb

 

His cream cake crumbles on Greggs shop floor

Mam chats and smokes outside the door

Sister Cheryl runs wildly about

Ignoring Mam’s frantic shout

 

Non-working class; must it be like this?

Mired in a morass; existence no bliss

Minx Cheryl and timorous young Errol Smith

One in Mam’s tummy will be the fifth

 

Social workers don’t know what to do

Politicians haven’t even a clue

Proudly espousing ‘each child counts’

We’re investing money, look at the amounts!

 

But cash alone is not the solution

What we need is a revolution

Where families learn of a better way

To break the cycle of social decay

 

Where then the collective conscience?

For lives lived, but of no consequence

A tragic, doomed, wasted group

Class-locked in an endless repeating  loop