A nation of shopkeepers
Food of the gods
Wretched little victims of the workhouses
They did not show us any mercy
Absolutely pure, therefore the best
Chocolate that could melt in the mouth
Machinery creates wealth but destroys men
Money seems to disappear like magic
Chocolate empires
I'll stake everything on chocolate!
Great wealth is not to be desired
A serpentine and malevolent cocoa magnate
The chocolate man's utopia
That monstrous trade in flesh and blood
God could have created us sinless
This company isn't big enough for both of us
I pray for snickers
American tanks were on the lawn
The quaker voice could still be heard
They'd sell for 20p
Gone. And it was so easy.