Pricks in Space

Pricks in space
Rich pricks in space
Rich pricks who think they’re philanthropists
In space
In space

Jeff’s got a rocket
Looks like a cock
It’s a rich spaceman
Delivery system
If space is so much better
He should just go and live there

Pricks in space
Rich pricks in space
Rich pricks who think they’re philanthropists
In space
In space

Richard was skint
But now he’s got a mint
To spunk on a rocket
That looks like a cock
It’s a rich spaceman
Delivery system
Only a space mission
By the NASA definition

Cos there’s not enough to keep him here
He loves a party near the edge of atmosphere

Pricks in space
Rich pricks in space
Rich pricks who think they’re philanthropists
In space
In space

Elon wants a rocket
That looks like a cock
It’s a burning ambition
To fly a space mission
So he’s looking for a lift with Dick
Cos he thinks that Jeff’s a prick

Pricks in space
Rich pricks in space
Rich pricks who think they’re philanthropists
In space
In space
In space
In space

Euro 2020

A beaming Kier Starmer is beamed into our homes
Wearing an England top stitched by children in export processing zones,
And who’s that posing by an England flag? Why it’s Owen Jones.
It’s amazing what winning and taking the knee can do,
Even Priti’s forgotten that she’d rather boo
And that seems to go for her boss too
With his England shirt worn over his clothes.

Keep the politicians out of football, but not the politics,
‘Cos it’s hard not to love a team that’s anti-racist
And not afraid to make the boo boys face it.
Who’ll speak truth to power and use their position
Like Marcus, leader of the opposition,
Got Spaffer to cough up on child nutrition.
There’s still plenty out there to make them fix.

So, Lee Anderson can go unpack a box
And take that wanker with him, Laurence Fox.
In fact, all the politician bandwagon jumpers
Who would never normally know their Arse from their Spurs
Or their O’s from their Bees
Can watch at home on TV
While our players take the knee,
Because just sticking to football ain’t the aim
And Black Lives Matter in the People’s Game.

Cyanide Sid Cooper

He’d punch his opponent
Though punching weren’t allowed
He’d wind up the ref
And he’d wind up the crowd
In his black leotard that only had one strap
You knew you were in for a bit of a scrap
Because his wrestling shenanigans should’ve got him banned
And God help you if you tried to shake his outstretched hand
‘Cos dirty Sid came from Dirty Leeds
Filling your Saturday teatime with dirty deeds
Picking up public warnings for fun
He’d often find himself undone
By two falls, two submissions or a knockout
‘Cos rules really weren’t what he was about
But now it’s goodnight grapple fans from Cyanide Sid
At the end of a heel’s life well lived
With a twisted smile as he’d twist a limb.
If only Spaffer were as honest as him