[Verse 1] Nineteen eighty-four, the ticker starts to hum, British Telecom goes public—half the company plus some, Three point nine billion pounds in pinstripe hands, Pensioners in slippers now own wires across the land, Fifty-point-two percent let loose to roam the floor, The state unclenched one fist, but kept its thumb on law. [Chorus] Tell Sid, tell Sid, the nation's up for sale, Telecom and Tell-Sid gas, Right to Buy, price-cap tale, Three-nine, five-four, sixty billion gone, Scored it as a windfall—debt wearing a tuxedo on, From abbey gold to British Gas, the crown still sells its hand, Tell Sid the sermon: this is how the state refunds the land. [Verse 2] Eighty-six, the adverts crackle through the telly screen, A whisper down the pub line: "Tell Sid what you've seen," Five point four billion for British Gas in blue and gold, Grandmothers bought shares before the coffee's gone cold, Airways lifted off the ledger, sparks flew off the grid, Each electric company auctioned like a hidden quid. [Chorus] Tell Sid, tell Sid, the nation's up for sale, Telecom and Tell-Sid gas, Right to Buy, price-cap tale, Three-nine, five-four, sixty billion gone, Scored it as a windfall—debt wearing a tuxedo on, From abbey gold to British Gas, the crown still sells its hand, Tell Sid the sermon: this is how the state refunds the land. [Verse 3] Housing Act of eighty, council keys unlock the door, Over a million tenants turned to owners, asking for more, Discounts deep as quarries carved the terraced streets in two, Macmillan grumbled, eighty-five, with a wink that cut right through: "They're selling off the family silver, spoon by spoon by plate," Heirlooms traded off for cash to balance out the state. [Verse 4] Littlechild drew a formula in eighty-three's design, RPI minus X, a leash to keep the prices in line, Price caps dressed as discipline for gas and phone and light, A regulator's ruler measuring what's fair and right, Sixty billion pounds by ninety-seven, counted as a cost, Subtracted from state spending—like the money was never lost. [Bridge] Henry stripped the abbeys, melted down the plate, Thatcher stripped the utilities, modernized the trade, Same old hunger dressed in a different century's coat, Selling what the public built to keep the deficit afloat, Dissolution wore a cassock, now it wears a suit, Same transaction, different altar, same old fiscal root. [Chorus] Tell Sid, tell Sid, the nation's up for sale, Telecom and Tell-Sid gas, Right to Buy, price-cap tale, Three-nine, five-four, sixty billion gone, Scored it as a windfall—debt wearing a tuxedo on, From abbey gold to British Gas, the crown still sells its hand, Tell Sid the sermon: this is how the state refunds the land. [Outro] So tell Sid, tell your gran, tell the ledger what it's worth, The family silver's melted down and scattered round the earth, From Dissolution's chalices to shares in Sid's own name, The sell-off is the oldest and the newest fiscal game.
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