Classic Poem

Buy, buy, buy,
Is the Peace-markt cry:
And the nations are our brothers
If they buy, buy, buy.

Honour's but a windy bag,
And History's a lie;
Nobility's at purchase,
And we'll buy, buy, buy.

The Synagogue's in Parliament;
The Jews are in the sty;
Salaam unto the guinea,
And we'll buy, buy, buy.

Young May is in December's bed;
Jack Horner eats his pie;
The Beauty goes to auction,
And we'll buy, buy, buy.

Religion sleeps on its old rags,
The world is all awry,
The Czar shall gulp the Sultan,
And we'll buy, buy, buy.

The cheapest thing is flesh and blood,
And hearts that beat high:
So we'll to the market merrily,
And buy, buy, buy.

Buy, buy, buy,
Our new kings cry,
And long live the men of Manchester,
Who buy, buy, buy.