No wonder that butter's nigh on a quid a pound
See the rich corporate farmers how they ride up and down
You ask them the reason, they'll say: “Bonny lass
It's the Commission in Brussels have taxed the cows' grass”

Honesty's all out of fashion
These are the rigs of the time
Time, me boys
These are the rigs of the time

Now Home Secretaries, I must bring 'em in
With their society obedient at every turn
At picking the Peach, pulls Towers to the ground
Who needs the NF when there's SPG around

Honesty's all out of fashion
These are the rigs of the time
Time, me boys
These are the rigs of the time

Now absentee landlords, I must bring 'em in
With their sky-high rents and they think it no sin
Their ceilings fall in, the walls run with slime
But they're for blacks or for Irish so no-one really minds

Honesty's all out of fashion
These are the rigs of the time
Time, me boys
These are the rigs of the time