Dear Mr. Johnson

Will he resign? Will he be forced out? Will the 1922 Committee get their 54 letters? (Just how archaic is this process?) Or will we have to build a statue of him and throw it in the Thames? Who knows? But in the meantime, a little gentle encouragement Protest Family-style, or the theme tune to a celebration. Let’s see…

Killing Birds (The Gamekeeper’s Song)

Gary’s a gamekeeper by name
Game killer for real
He keeps the prey alive
To get shot out of the sky
By those with flat cap and Barbour jacket zeal

Thinks the Prime Minister’s a clown
But an Oxford man in parliament
Keeps taxes down

Gary’s a gamekeeper by name
Game killer for real
He keeps the prey alive
To get shot out of the sky
By those with flat cap and
Barbour jacket zeal

He kills the birds that kill the birds he bred to kill
He kills the birds that kill the birds he bred to kill
He’s a huntin’, shootin’
String ‘em up and flog ‘em
Establishment shill

Gary’s a gamekeeper by name
Game killer and proud
He keeps the prey alive
To get shot out of the sky
By the side by side
Tweed and plus fours crowd

Thinks the Prime Minister’s a comedy toff
But an Oxford man in parliament
Will keep the protestors off

Gary’s a gamekeeper by name
Game killer and proud
He keeps the prey alive
To get shot out of the sky
By the side by side
Tweed and plus fours crowd

He kills the birds that kill the birds he bred to kill
He kills the birds that kill the birds he bred to kill
He’s a huntin’, shootin’
String ‘em up and flog ‘em
Establishment shill

Gary’s a gamekeeper by name
Game killer and proud
He keeps the prey alive
To get shot out of the sky
By the side by side
Tweed and plus fours crowd

He kills the birds that kill the birds he bred to kill
He kills the birds that kill the birds he bred to kill
He’s a huntin’, shootin’
String ‘em up and flog ‘em
He’s a huntin’, shootin’
String ‘em up and flog ‘em
He’s a huntin’, shootin’
String ‘em up and flog ‘em
Gary just likes to kill

Today in Parliament

The Speaker of the House doesn’t speak, he shouts
And doesn’t call the PM out
On the lies he spouts,
And when he answers a different question to the one that’s asked,
He gets a pass,
As unchallenged as his misogyny
Referring to the women questioners as ‘she’
And to the men
As right honourable friends.
And calls for him to correct the record
From the baying horde
Are just ignored.

At PMQs
Sir Kier said, “Bring your own boos”,
A witty retort
No doubt given much thought
But an acknowledgement just the same
That this is all somehow a game,
Played out again
When a fella who likes kicking refugees,
Burning down the trees and tax avoidance schemes,
Crossed the floor
To Labour applause,
While a man of genuine integrity
Still sits in a whip-less constituency.

Is it any wonder then
There are loads of people who when asked
Say, “Why should I care
What happens in there?
It’s clearly just panto,
And it’s not Christmas”.
And that’s the way
Operation Save Big Dog
Survives another day.

Operation Red Meat

Banning wine time Friday
Kicking at the BBC
Buller! Buller! Buller!
Operation Red Meat

Sending in the navy
To harass the refugee
Buller! Buller! Buller!
Operation Red Meat

Tell ‘em what they want to hear
Daily ‘til we’re in the clear
Buller! Buller! Buller!
Operation Red Meat

The NHS backlog again
Eased by private medicine
Buller! Buller! Buller!
Operation Red Meat

Cover your hypocrisy
With populist new policy
Buller! Buller! Buller!
Operation Red Meat

Save Big Dog to shift the blame
Red Meat to stay in the game
Buller! Buller! Buller!
Operation Red Meat

Operation Save Big Dog

Apologise by not saying sorry
Don’t let Sue get too a priori
Make a list of your next quarry
It’s Operation Save Big Dog

Ferguson went when he was too carefree
Hancock survived over PPE
But then got caught on CCTV
It’s Operation Save Big Dog

Save Big Dog, it ain’t even in Latin
Save Big Dog, the back bench are at him
Save Big Dog, maybe this time it’s happening
Operation Save Big Dog

Send ‘em Brandon Lewis tell him what to say
Send ‘em Liz Truss, tell her the same
Send ‘em Damian Hinds (who’s he anyway?)
It’s Operation Save Big Dog

Tell a big lie, what have you got to lose?
With a suitcase of booze and a crap excuse
Hoping a Chinese spy will make the news
It’s Operation Save Big Dog

Save Big Dog, it ain’t even in Latin
Save Big Dog, the back bench are at him
Save Big Dog, maybe this time it’s happening
Operation Save Big Dog

Sacrifice a SpAD, that’s why you pay ‘em
They all know there comes a day when
A Barnard Castle eye test just won’t save ‘em
It’s Operation Save Big Dog

Blow the whistle! The dog whistle
Not the whistleblowers, feed ’em to the dogs
Blow the whistle! The dog whistle
It’s Operation Save Big Dog

Save Big Dog, it ain’t even in Latin
Save Big Dog, the back bench are at him
Save Big Dog, maybe this time it’s happening
Operation Save Big Dog

(Lyrics by Steve and Mark Commoner)

Sue Gray

Need talk about a party to just go away?
Do you need to keep the metropolitan police at bay?
Has your shopping trolley got wheels of clay?
Then you need Sue Gray

Did you touch Kate Maltby in an inappropriate way?
Did you use your work computer for some “me time” play?
Did you lie about it all on Radio 4’s Today?
Send for Sue Gray

Need a pint at the end of a bandit country day?
Who could do a job for Theresa May?
What did Andrew Mitchell actually say?
You could ask Sue Gray

Have your friends in Scotland cried, “Foul play”?
Does breaking two years’ silence fill you with dismay?
Do you need to survive PMQ’s to fight another day?
Then you need Sue Gray

Top 10’s in 2021

Top 10 Blog Posts of 2021

We thought that Dear Mr. Johnson might make a late run at it, or even The Day They Cancelled Christmas, but the winner is the ode to the playthings of the super-rich, inspired, at least in part, by Jeff Bezos’ thanks to the shoppers and workers at Amazon for paying for his nearly-into-space jaunt. The surprise entry at number 2 is, we think, down to people searching for positive stories about anti-vaxxer Cassie; an algorithm win for us then. Good to see people still remembering our mate Chris too.

  1. Pricks in Space
  2. Cassie Sunshine (Is Wearing a G-string on Her Face)
  3. Daily Mail: Let Our Teachers Be Heroes
  4. My Postie’s Being Bullied by Iain Duncan Smith
  5. Jason & Joanna: Vaccine Wars
  6. Cough Away
  7. Chris Parsons RIP
  8. One Zero Zero, Zero Zero Zero
  9. Knock, Knock!
  10. Right Bullets, Wrong Gun

Top 10 YouTube Videos of 2021

It seems that Orient fans are still obsessed with the owner who nearly killed the club, or maybe they’re just fans of lists of managers and Christmas harmonies. Nice to see that Brisbane Road continues to have a loyal following (as does Sean Thornton) and good showings from the three Lockdown Singles Club releases.

  1. The 12 Days of Becchetti
  2. The Side of the Fox
  3. Air Miles Andy
  4. Brisbane Road
  5. A Statue of Boris Johnson
  6. 46 Fascists
  7. Cassie Sunshine (Is Wearing a G-string on Her Face)
  8. Let the Bodies Pile High
  9. Rivers of Shit
  10. Sean Thornton

Top 10 Bandcamp Plays of 2021

Songs from The debased street music of the vulgar proved popular along with live favourite God Save the Queen’s Speech. Interesting to see both versions of Where Tina Goes in the list; we always said it would be a hit.

  1. Donald’s in Town
  2. God Save the Queen’s Speech
  3. Han Solo
  4. Have a Word
  5. The Side of the Fox
  6. Where Tina Goes (Debased Street Music)
  7. Tag Team Time
  8. Home Rule for Awesomestow
  9. From the Euro to the Pound
  10. Where Tina Goes (Snowflake)

But tell us, what were your favourites?

2021

The right bullets miss,
Fired from the wrong gun,
When getting it done
Is just a slogan,
While the Tories are taking the piss,
‘Cos my postie’s being bullied by Iain Duncan Smith
While Jacob only cares about happy Brexit fish.
Priti says nothing, set to rhyme;
For Maxine and Henry, it’s vaccine time
While Dido spaffs a million pounds a day,
Every day.
And while “Now is not the time,” is the schtick,
The blood on Johnson’s hands reaches one hundred thousand thick

More sleaze exposures of Tory donors
’Cos when you say, “Pandemic” they say, “Profit”,
If there’s a healthcare contract,
Their mates have got it,
Makes you want to vomit.
And the deaths of heroes and friends brings it all home.
Air Miles Andy takes flight,
Spaffer reveals a roadmap for Keith to like,
And, aware of the cost,
Van Tam warns a 3-0 game is there to be lost.

Space rockets, Mars Bar economics,
Stalker Morgan stomping off the telly,
The opening salvos in the vaccine wars,
Where Jason’s ready, and Joanna’s not ready.
And Johnson says capital and greed
Are all your vaccine rollout needs,
Keeping a compliant nation in check
With clapping, silences, flags and respect,
And despite racial disparity and affairs again,
Marks his own homework: ten out of ten.
This tactic of just telling whoppers
Also adopted by the Clapham vigil coppers.

The wrong fox ran for Mayor.
A Harrods Tommy Robinson,
Didn’t get far, to be fair,
And ducks in the fountain at Trafalgar Square
Don’t care who’s the statue up there.
Lauded for bravery,
Blind to the slavery.
A racist old man pops his clogs
And were supposed to mourn because
His missus wears a million-pound hat
And owns that, and that, and that, and that,
While the leader of the country cries
“Let the bodies pile high”.

In Chingford they prefer Priti Patel
To a refugee from a war-torn land.
At least in Glasgow Southside
Jayda Fransen had to talk to the hand.
The Queen sanctions Parliament to carry on shrugging
As the PM cautiously sanctions hugging.
So, when all this is over
And we’re mourning our family and friends,
We’re gonna build a statue of Boris Johnson
And chuck it straight in the Thames.

Hancock walks
When he gets caught
Snogging his bird
When it should have occurred
That in an environment so parliamentary
There’s bound to be some CCTV,
And someone will leak it while his hand’s off the tiller
Because they won’t forget that he’s the Care Home Killer,
While Southgate shows what leadership should be
As his Euro 2020 team take the knee.

Eat out to help out:
Well, that went well
Wear a mask without being asked, and don’t lose your sense of smell.
New rules for pubs but it never gets rammed
In the New Rose and Crown, the pub of the damned.
Derek won’t wear one, he’d rather be dead,
And Cassie wears a G-string on her face instead.
A trip to Oxford Circus for a plasma donation,
A Covid threat to the cats of this nation,
And Jason, never brave,
Scans the horizon for a second wave.

Still singing in August
And trying to understand
What just happened in Afghanistan,
While at home the mess that Brexit makes
Means there no milk for shakes
And no chicken for your tea
If you’re the type that likes them fried in a KFC.
(Personally, that’s not for me
To feast on the grease
Of the recently deceased).

If you’re a woman and a Texan
The control of your own body ban
Makes your rights are as poor as in Taliban Afghanistan.
Meanwhile, in our own nation,
You can get a CBE for a substantial donation.
The levers of the machine that you must lube
Being operated by the squeezer of Charlie’s toothpaste tube.
And chat show hosts are talking bollocks,
And Nikki Minaj is talking bollocks,
Carbon dioxide makers are despondent
And Phil McCann’s a fuel crisis correspondent.
It’s all going toilet rolls again.
So, if you’re looking for a world that’s fair
You’ll need to understand that there’s no halfway there.

Butcher Johnson, sometime author,
Counsels Marr on porcine slaughter.
Says, “I hate to break it to you,”
“Andrew”,
“That pigs must die to be your food”.
Misunderstanding, deliberately,
That there’s no bacon for his tea
Because the workers in the abattoir,
Most recruited from afar,
Alas, have stayed at home.
While Prince Charles, himself the owner of swine,
Runs his posh car on cheese and wine.
The Saudis buy Newcastle,
No sportswash here,
The sovereign wealth fund’s
Intentions seem clear.
Yeah, right.
Jayda will try it on again,
This time in Southend.
Let’s hope the Essex voter sees through
Her racist hate in ’22.
And while Johnson talks shit at COP26
It’s the shitting in rivers voting that sticks.

And Batman’s just a violent capitalist, right?

Omicron, a new Greek letter
Makes you a cougher and a sweater,
May take ten days til you get better,
May take more, may take lesser,
A milder form, Delta’s successor,
But try not to end up in a hospital bed,
Or dead,
Because Johnson, feeling Christmas party shame,
Is playing a different game,
Not just to Drakeford, who seems wiser,
But to his own chief advisor,
Who says, “Stay safe”, while Johnson ‘s business
Is not to cancel another Christmas.
The “Party, what party? Oh, that party” thing
And a Lib Dem swing give another kicking
To his credibility and authority
From which not even producing more offspring
Can deflect.
And when football and darts fans take your name in vain,
Inevitably profane,
It’s calling time on this insufferable toff.
Bye, bye,
Farewell,
Fuck off.

(This blog post is also available as a podcast)