The powdered milk
That the adverts sell
To third world mothers,
Deprived and ill;
The little tins
Of milk-white lies
For the starving child
That wants
Yet dies
Lured away
From the mother's breast
By lies imported from the west.
She cannot keep the bottle clean,
She cannot read the little tin,
Sees the picture clean and white
But never taught to read and write;
The company that offers the bribe
For the deaths of a thousand kicks
Inside.
To some people money means more than life,
But only when it's someone else's life.
Nestles' company pocket fillers,
They're sucking from those tiny bellies,
More money for the baby-killers!
Breath!
Life!
Death!
Lies!