Rudd the dud is wondering
If he should bother to help,
But to the poor, his meanderings
Make Ruddy a bloody joke.

He’s not sure if his Masters
Will let him help the poor,
The stupid, worthless bastard
Just doesn’t know the bloody score.

To Rudd it’s so confusing
He’s not sure whether to help,
So Ruddy keeps on musing
And the poor must help themselves.

We’re starving in the gutters
While Ruddy lives in doubt,
All he does is mutter
But muttering won’t help out.

So Rudd the dud continues
To hesitate to do anything,
The poor have cat food on their menus
Still, that helps them go on living.

For the rich have told the government
“You’d better not tax us mate!
“Too bad if the working classes starves
“But, they’re only second rate.”

So afraid to lose the largess
Paid by big business into their vaults,
Both parties refuse to tax the rich
And welfare aid is put on halt.

For the rich decide who can win now
Elections are bought and sold,
And when new devils come to power
They’ve already sold their souls.