Family Misfortunes
Mr. Crust and Mrs. Crust
Were humble folk, or mean:
Their century had not discussed
The mystery of the gene.
They sang a simple, single song,
Their hearts as blue as woad,
Drove upset applecarts along
The right side of the road.
One night when all the fields were flat
And frost had seized the air,
They went to stretch their bed, begat
Prime Ministers, a pair.
Middle diddle, middle class,
And plainly middle crust,
These farmers, so it came to pass
Left Middle England bust.