If you avoid the singular in letters
And pepper all your prose with 'them' and 'they';
If you accept the cattle as your betters
And hamper the transporters on their way;
If you can dine on lentil stew, and potter
With mushroom compost on the window sill,
And, loving coffee, be content with water,
Because of exploitation in Brazil;

If you can spot the sex of 'J S Aitken'
And never err with Mrs, Ms or Miss
And if you do, admit that you're mistaken
For not being psychic - woefully remiss;
If you can dress yourself in polyester
And shun the merest non-synthetic thread,
And aim to be an ethical investor
With shares as solid as your wholemeal bread;

If you, in your opinions, follow fashion
Ignoring logic, thought and common sense;
If you espouse equality with passion
And take redundancy as recompense;
If you adopt the manner of a loser
Because to win would seem abuse of power,
And see in every husband an abuser
Who's merely waiting his appointed hour;

If you control your every word while seeming
To monitor your every conscious thought,
And lie awake at night for fear of dreaming
In ways that you had really better not;
If you rebuke your family for their laughter 
And choose your friends by quota, not for fun,
Then you will win approval, ever after,
And - which is more - you'll be Correct, my son.