Here's one I knocked up earlier. Well, shortly after she left office in fact. I called it The Legacy and I set it to an Irish slow air called An Chaora Ghlas, which means The Grey Sheep. It seemed kinda fitting since there are 600+ of them in parliament and hardly any of them with the guts to stand up and tell the world what they really thought about Thatcher. Thank God for Glenda Jackson.

To the ones who tasted victory,
And boasted of the noble fight,
With cruel hearts you turn your gaze,
And shield your eyes and dim the light.
So you won't see the hopelessness,
And the anger of your fellow men,
Who hang suspended by the rope
Of your cruel economic plan.

I will show you the boarded windows
Of the shops that sank in the angry swell.
I will show you the stifled factories
With no work to share and no goods to sell.
I will show you the drifting homeless
And the mortgagees that couldn't pay.
God help the weak and insecure.
God help the ones stood in your way.

In this wasteland you call Britain
You will see the jobless millions pass.
And on their faces written,
The desperate plight and the hopeless quest.
Like needles through the haystack,
They search for jobs from pole to pole.
How I long to see the sun arise
On the day when you too draw the dole.

You sold what was not yours to sell,
The things that we'd sustained through life.
To the very root and branch you took
The butcher's blade and the surgeon's knife.
And the jackals and hyenas,
Who sold their souls for greed and gain,
Would steal our very rights to life
And sell them back to us again.

I've heard described in words of praise,
The way we've been brought to our knees.
Dark was the hour and black the shroud,
When the reins of power by your hands were seized.
Your followers feast on the corpse,
Like carnivores besmirched with blood.
Did you really think that we'd believe,
That this was for our country's good?