Oh British Rail First Class, Oh first Class Britain
A leather bound land of the wide and thrilling
I have joined your ranks; sat where you’re sitting
Embraced lavishly like some wealthy bond villain
Who takes what he wants, whose demands are demanding
His character outclassed by the depth of his pocket
Oh come, throne him up, you can’t leave him standing
He needs wifi, red wine and his own power socket
And while he laughs, he slips and slides on your chairs
The poor, in piss filled halls can hide
With cramped aching feet, and a steel cold glare
For the guards with clip on ties that keep them outside.
Yes, the final destination is the same, but the journey much more sweet
For the wealthy ass traversing life on the comfortable seat.
