I live and grow in a country small but known,
And run by pigs who live in greed,
How many children's futures have been swallowed hole,
In an unjust ruling fit for the wealthy.

I write for your shame and my pleasure,
You have walked not one step in the shoes of real men,
Let us do the dirty work and you to hide upon your lying throne.

But when it is my turn,
When the children finally grow,
Will anyone hold their hand out for you when you fall?