There'll be pigs in blankets
huddling cold meat in the street
And chlorinated chicken getting cold chicken feet
The response has been paltry poultry and foul Fowl
And it's fair game for the pheasants
Who follow the plough
And furlongs of furloughs have run the furrows low
As the mechanized industry is on the hill's brow
Like a silouhette of a monster in the dawn's early glow
Well its Brexit's monster now
What the working class wanted were better wages
To get the jobs back that they felt were their heritage
But what they have got are empty shelves and vacancies
Which none of them will fill for they've run out of sympathies
The jobs don't pay high enough they say with disdain
Then doctor Brexit comes at them again and again
This is independent Britain, this your birth right's claim
But who will do the work is Dr Brexit's Monster
He's mean and he's stiff, he's wonky and lacks self control
But his bionic limbs and till fields for vegetables
He can plough furrows, and he can glean lands
And he doesn't mind getting dirt on his hands
Oh sure he's an android, but what did you expect?
From the next generation of workers after Brexit
Few British workers could compete with European toll
And therefore our farming will be under mechanized control
They wanted higher wages, what they got was higher prices
of Food, fuel, electricity and gas in their houses
And if they can get to work at all
They can barely afford their utility bill
Oh it's the revenge of Brexit's monster
Well we treated him like he was a fool,
Writhing around in a small gene pool
With recruitment sharks hanging around his school
Yes he's an office clerk because he don't work with tools
He's got a mental age of 3 but he's learning fast
From his AI brain and his hardwired heart
And his mother board's fried and his fatherland
Smells of fart
Oh he's Brexit's monster
