The Government

We're clapped-out old milkers,
Our udders are dry.
We don't have the strength
To spit cud in your eye.

We're clapped-out old milkers,
Our teats have been wrung,
The one gift we bring you
Is modified dung.

We're clapped-out old milkers
In a field full of void,
And all of our milkmaids
Are under-employed.

We're clapped-out old milkers
With nowhere to graze.
The boss had a butcher's,
Averted his gaze.

We're clapped-out old milkers,
But credit is due:
The years we were knackered
Were spent milking you.

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From the book Tony Blair reminds me of a budgie

Downing Street described the cows to be culled as "clapped-out old milkers".