I’m writing this verse on the toilet
A priv’lege that cost me the Earth
Forty p for to pee is an outrage
I’m determined to use all it’s worth
I’ll sit on the throne til my train comes
It’s a platform, and I’m in no rush
They are piping departure announcements
Through a speaker that’s next to the flush
I will get my value for money
For this bog and the time that I’m in it
If I stay here until fourteen fifty
Then that will be one p a minute
They’re taking the piss with these charges
It’s not even half price unwaged
The neighbouring cubicle’s vacant
But the one that I’m sat in’s enraged
I’m making a stand with my sit-in
My protest is now on a roll
But the minutes of khazi confinement
Will soon be extracting their toll
It’s a product of privatised privvies
The malodorous stench of the system
So I’ll keep on composing my poem
Then publish it here, on the cistern
Now I’ve nearly finished my rhyming
And then I’ll be tweeting and typing
If you’re finding this image distasteful
Just be grateful that I am not Skyping
