The nouveaux riches we shall always have with us,
And every game is always the same.
The nouveaux riches will never forgive us,
Only ever apportion blame.
There are sixty-six different genders,
As once there were fish knives and grapefruit spoons,
All of them plated and benders,
Poor, sad, aspirational goons.
Demonstrating sophistication,
Showing you’ve always belonged in your station,
Pretending to care about ‘Black Lives’,
Expressing imaginary guilt,
Because nothing says ‘terribly posh’,
Like my lot owned slaves, don’t y’know?
Two centuries ago.
The nouveaux riches we shall always have with us,
And every game is always the same,
Signalling virtue,
Apportioning blame,
The nouveaux riches will never forgive us.
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