Saturday morning poetry

“What I see in Manchester town”

Craig Winterburn 24th October 2015

Flats for twats going up in town, they’re not for you nor the scrounge.

The local pub, the mill ripped down, canal side warehouse a church for a pound.

Council won’t bother it’s just a waste ground.

Flats for twats built by millionaires, they rush to fill them with whom they couldn’t care.

They’ll never know their neighbours, they’re all to fucking scared.

They pay through the nose for it and your councillor takes a share.

Builder just a circus drive from town to town,

Transients of industry Sun readers in hard hats.

Drive white vans wildly through you, whilst all the time building flats for twats.

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