We won India back from the British
It's been three quarters a century
The master wielding the whips a different skin
Misery still the dominant story
The ghost of that little island
Holds its mighty sway
Those clever traders rule us still
Just a different cabaret
We're using their language
We're rather good at it, we think
Only English medium pass the muster
We are English when we drink
Our performance severely lackluster
Mass manufactured clerks
The ill-gotten confusions are still
Vain and compromised perks
But it's true we are the new baboos
It's strange that this knowledge stings
We've marooned our pristine dreams
For stilts with rusty springs
We're wearing their stale styles
The laws are bad inheritance
The faces on currency are Indian
But nothing has really changed
The leaders whisper confident lies
Raise their voice to rhymes
All that was decent in our history
Are buried in dead minds
Petty corruption is the common ground
Every god needs a bribe
Original thoughts are crushed
Dishonesty leads the tribe
We stand on the hips of myths
Religion is still the beat
We're blind to what is real
Covet only the outstanding cheat
We like short-term goals
Shortcuts are extolled
Finesse and clarity are both imported
Only to be easily sold
Public healthcare is a sham
Shameless lies fill our claims
Jobs and Education are discussed
Only for political gains
Don't know where we're heading
On this badly wounded stretcher
The common man has nowhere to go
Except a hike on "hope for the better"
