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The original was posted on /r/newzealand by /u/BehaveYourselfPlz on 2024-09-24 05:33:15+00:00.
In honour of our dear leaders as we approach the anniversary of their first year in power.
Gather ‘round children, and I’ll tell you a tale, Of the men and the women who sought to derail, The plans of your parents, to save and pay bills, Of a gaggle of charlatans, without any skills.
First there’s the egg man, the one they call Chris, Who they say is in charge, but never much is. For with old Winnie P, and the snide David S, Poor egg man is hardboiled, always under duress.
Then there’s our Nicola, with pockets so shallow, No plan, no hope, and our dreams in the gallows. Twas she who slew Wellington, put the city on blocks, And won’t buy us new ferries, as the old ones hit rocks.
And what of wee Simeon, the boy in the suit? No love for Three Waters, but he’ll carve a new route For a tunnel in Welly, right through the mountain, While our pipes turn to dust, and our streets turn to fountains.
I mentioned smug David, who won votes by the bunch, But then used his new powers, to take your child’s lunch. His issues with Māori, his contempt for the poor, The designer, the master, of this new culture war.
I did not forget Karen, the imposer of rules, On struggling children let down by the schools. She’ll find them, she’ll catch them, pack them in with the rest, In bootcamps for children, then hope for the best.
“But what of Shane Jones?”, you cry out with scorn, “Prince of Northland, and mining, and premium porn”. Yes big Shane is back, to settle the score, And he’s starting with Māori, and their right to shore.
Then comes Chris Bishop, the dentist’s delight, Fluent in English, but only talks shite. Kids with bad parents, turfed out of their home, But he won’t call them ‘homeless’; they’re just ‘people who roam’.
I can spare a few words, for our own Dr Shane, The sort to mark you with flu, and send you out in the rain. But he’s only a puppet, at best he’s a Jester, And he serves in the court, of the man they call Lester.
To recap and surmise, on the words I have tendered, “What need has the public for services rendered?” Is the question that’s held by those with the power, as they wield it against us, hour by hour.
And what began as a skit, mapped out as a joke, Has captured our struggle, as we peer through the smoke, Of the fires they set, ignorant of the cost, And its us that will carry, the weight of what’s lost.