Hodge waded through the weekly news,
‘The Income Tax, he said,
‘That’s nowt to me, I shallunt lose,
‘Twill hit the boss instead.
Lloyd George he be the man for I,
Us poor have nowt to fear.’
He paused then gave a dismal cry :
‘ They’re goin’ to tax my beer’
‘ A good thing too!’ replied his wife.
‘ ‘Twill keep you from the pub,
Swilling each evening of your life,
While I work at the tub!’
Across the inglenook she reached,
The welcome news to see,
Then, in resentful clamour, screeched :
‘3d. a pound on tea’
To foot the bill it’s only fair
That everyone should do their share,
And since we all are served the same,
Pay and look pleasant that’s the game.
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