When levees are flooded and hurricanes roar,
When the waters start seeping up under the door,
You’d expect the escape plans to include the poor
But this isn’t that kind of song.
They shut the bus-stations, they shut down the train,
Two days in advance of the start of the rain.
The drivers drove out and the carless remain,
For all you’re expecting is wrong.
You good folk responded with money and pity,
To help all survivors and each dog and kitty,
But nothing got through, for they’d cut off the city
And the time folks were waiting grew long.
The slow rising waters were foul and polluting
Survivors were starving and thirsting and looting,
They called them insurgents and said they were shooting,
But this isn’t that kind of song.
Those poor folks, those black folks, they vote the wrong way,
They left them to rot, said they wanted to stay,
“This all worked out well for them”, Barbara Bush say,
For all you’re expecting is wrong.
You wanted to help and you really did care,
Those bastards in charge stand with weapons laid bare.
They laugh when they tell you that life isn’t fair,
And the time we are waiting grows long.
8th September 2005
