courtesy from mob's crib

The Iron Lady hot
Blowing vindictive high and low
High powered battery charges
She let go her steam

The white floating vapor
Burning eyes people stare
The iron lady turning hot
The crafted iron slowly burning out

God has other plans
She isn’t in His
So she crumbles bending over
Turning rusty brownish dark color
Slowly peeling off by the wind

The Iron Lady still standing firm
“I will go for plastic surgery
I will challenge to the highest post
Be the first woman pm”

The rust falling apart
She better moves fast
The time is ticking away
Better hurry doing it

The chambermaids walk hurriedly
Knowing they too may lose their titles
It is their rights to polish her up
Yet the rust keeps appearing

The Iron lady wails
Losing her balance
Falling slowly tilting one side
Like the tower of Telok Intan