Betrayed by the Upper Classes

Those poor wee lasses, betrayed by the upper classes. Those who drink

from champagne flutes and rose-tinted glasses. Their wealth is glaring, fancy speakers,

they're blaring. Eardrums tearing from the noise they're declaring. They talk,

degrade, slander and lie. Hiding behind virtue, a cunning disguise. Stirring up rage,

just to get a rise. Clear to anyone who's got eyes. Their word salad

spins, trying to hypnotize. But that twisted rhetoric will be their demise.

They claim they care, preach it loud and proud. But when it

comes to Rotherham girls, no one hears their cries. Poor broken girls,