Seventeen Years Hard Tory
On our way out of the slammer,
They rammed a gate straight in our face.
A bolt sounded loud as a hammer
And locked us all back into space:
We balanced our feet on the edge, on the brink,
But now we're still shut in the national clink.
Seventeen years in our cages!
Banged up like black rats in a brig!
We haven't seen action for ages.
There's no room to shimmy or jig -
Was that sniff of freedom a whiff of fresh air?
Is there any oxygen waiting out there?
Three prison warders have hold of our throat.
It's lucky our feet know the right way to vote.