Awa wi’ yer fiscal headroom!
Oor Chancellor stood wi’ muckle pride,
Three trillion debt he couldnae hide,
Yet cried, “Guid folk, be not alarmed,
Fifteen billion spare! We’re barely harmed!”
The taxes rise, the debts grow deep,
The interest climbs while workers weep,
Yet still he boasts, wi’ solemn face,
“We’ve fiscal headroom, plenty space!”
But och! Auld Rabbie would declare,
“Ye cannae spend what isnae there!
Ye borrow mair, then boast wi’ glee,
O’ riches that ye’ll never see!”
And should the winds o’ fortune turn,
That fifteen billion soon would burn,
Then back he’ll come, wi’ hat in hand,
For mair o’ oor hard-earned demand!
So when shall a’ this madness end?
When debts grow high, an’ taxes bend?
They fill their coffers, proclaim we’re fine,
While pickin’ the pockets o’ yours an’ mine!
And Andy cries, “We’ve headroom yet!”
While Britain sinks in deeper debt,
The Treasury laughs, the people groan,
For a’ their headroom’s borrowed on loan!
Laurence Farmer
Bridge End
Burra
