'Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the land, Keir Starmer was scheming, with taxes in hand. The grannies were starving, no heat for their fire, While Keir and his mates drank champagne to admire. Two-tier Keir, with his free gear spree, Gave handouts to cronies but left none for tea. “Tax the poor harder!” cried Rachel, with glee, While she filled up her purse with the rich’s decree. "Farmer Harmer", they whispered, down in the shire, For Keir’s latest rules set their fields aflame higher. “And what of the windmills?” Ed Miliband chimed, “Let’s build them in Africa—on Britain’s last dime!” David Lammy, meanwhile, with passport in hand, Flew off to give away some far-off land. “Where am I going?” he asked with a grin, “Is this Europe, or Africa, or somewhere in between?” For Christmas this year, he’ll need quite the look— A sturdy new map and a thick history book. Old Rachel Thieves, was next to appear, “Let’s rob all their pockets, my conscience is clear!” From the rich she took nothing, they gave her a grin, While the poor cried, “What happened? We’re skint again!” And for those who are old, with no heating or stew, Labour's solution is ready for you. “Take the assisted jab; we’ll see you out right, But do it before April, or the tax man will bite!” Up on the rooftops, they laughed and they plotted, While the working folk’s savings grew tattered and rotted. For free gear Keir and his mates so dear, Were feasting on steaks while the cupboards stayed clear. But lo, as dawn broke, the people awoke, And saw through the plans of this laughable bloke. “Enough of the nonsense, the taxes, the lies, We’re taking our votes, and we’ll cut you to size!” So here is the moral, for those who still dream, Of leaders who promise and then plot and scheme: Beware of the Starmer, the Lammy, the Band, Or you’ll find yourself penniless, hand in hand.