(3 July 2007)
“There’s one of mine,” the farmer said,
“I recognise my brand.”
As a ‘sheep’ walked idly past,
A cigarette packet in his hand.
The farmer's friend laughed out loud,
It really was a joke.
The serious money they could make,
Just by selling smoke!
As long as the taxman took his cut,
They could really make more dough,
With one born every minute,
Too stupid to say no.
“Oh look, there’s rebellious youth,
See them think they’ll not be told,
But see them smoking, unaware
Their very lives are bought and sold.”
“It’s an establishment activity,
And so they pay their way,
So multi-nationals and governments,
Grow richer every day!"
“That may be so,” the farmer warned,
“But western markets have declined.
Be thankful for new markets, as
The third world keeps our pockets lined.”
“Foreign peasants, a godsend are,
To keep the wolf from the door,
They never bleat about their health.
Hooray for the ignorant poor!"
“As generations before them,
See them join the placid flocks.
We’ll fleece them and fleece them,
Till they’re in their wooden box!”