He sang when high

You make me feel like a handout
Another hand out ? How many hands do you have
We have a food blank right now.Except for snails
Don’t keep me  inflating.I am no saloon

I make the blade gay which was no meaningless feat,I reassure you
If you want to make tracks, hire a wolf or even a pack of wolves on a zero hours contract
To rake waves won’t make anything grow in the sea.
If you make your mind improve ,who is doing the improving?
You must see it through
His eyes pierced me like darts with no handles

He makes my blood oil and sells it to the highest bladder
Making money is hard when you are pissed all day and kissed all night
She is making me go made withf rost
I chose a man for all the right pleasings
A blighter trades on whales

My man’s home is his battle.I am the field
God took out an order on me….I am tagged by daemons
Many hands make light work s; hire all the unemployedright and charge the national grid
He was not only unemployed but unenjoyed by anyone.
Why is self pleasure thought sinful?It is exercise,in a very feel sense
He was a larky sort of man.. he sang when high.
We have a hoover sort of love
Where have all the towers gone,gone to Grenfell,every one
When will we never burn?
A hundred years since the War to end all  laws
Apartheid is not wrong, it’#s just that tigers will eat us.
The country as a Zoo