From Lidl, assuming there’s no fiddle.
Poor old Lloyds have almost no money.
Don’t you find that terribly funny.
Other banks are making a mint.
They’ve left the rest of us skint.
They’re so choc full of cash
They can’t hide their huge stash.
Their managers feel no stress
They’ve followed the rules of RBS.
Like Fred the Shred they live so well
And leave the rest of us to rot in hell.
The staff will come off worst, we bet,
As the black horse gallops into the sunset.
Short and sweet like this biscuit.
Our accountant, Jegan, has worked out
The proportion of chocolate in it.
Eighty nine per cent or just about.