From Orwell’s imaginary pub
To an invitation to join the club
Arise, Sir Tim
We’re sure you’re gonna fit right in
Arise, Sir Tim Wetherspoon
The cheap booze in warehouses tycoon
The Brexit beermat cartoon
The politics of public and saloon
Arise, Sir Tim
Whose pubs are never prim
Whose pint is always full to the brim
Whose views are uniformly grim
From Orwell’s imaginary pub
To the King’s chummy little club
Raise a glass to Empire and Crown
You were never going to turn one down
It snapped my flagpole like a twig
Our John told the news
And a tree fell on the conservatory
Spoiling all our views
A whirlwind, literally, Kerry said
We couldn’t open our front door
The lampposts were all swaying
I’d never seen that before
A tree came right through Maisie’s roof
Pulled down the bathroom ceiling
The Liberal Democrats demand
The PM calls a COBRA meeting
Chief Superintendent Dexter said
Some people have been displaced
We’ve told them not to go back home
If they really want to stay safe
When the warm air hits the cold air fast
It explodes just like a volcano
Thirty seconds of Gaza
It’s the Stalybridge tornado
You can see it
But life goes on
All around you
Like there’s nothing wrong
Step up, step up
Step up, step up
The sticker in the window
Reads Free Palestine
You know that it’s right
But you don’t have the time
Step up, step up
Step up, step up
Because a better world
Begins with us
A better world
If we just step up
Step up
Step up, step up
Dead babies daily
In your feed
Ethnic cleansing
Guaranteed
Step up, step up
Step up, step up
Dead babies daily
Every day
We’re privileged enough
We can look away
Step up, step up
Step up, step up
Because a better world
Begins with us
A better world
If we just step up
Step up
Step up, step up
Because a better world
Begins with us
A better world
If we just step up
Step up
Step up
The leaves fall in his presence
The ground hardens to ice
Shortened are the days
As long become the nights
Until the Oak King rises
When the wheel turns again
And the song of the robin
Is heard over the wren
A time to feast, to come together
To let the flames burn bright
A time to understand
Without the darkness, there’s no light
Since it turns, so he returns
When the oak leaves wilt and brown
A reminder that the holly’s with us
All the year round
Write poetry
The right poetry
You might argue
That you
Wright poetry
Or rite poetry
For the church or the crown
Or right poetry
That you found upside down
But don’t write
Alright poetry
Write poetry
That’s right
Michelle Mone
Doesn’t need a loan
Got two hundred mill
Sat on the MedPro throne
Now Michelle Mone’s
Cover’s blown
She lied to the press
As it’s now known
So, Michelle Mone
Will have to atone
‘Cause the PPE
Wasn’t well sewn
However, Michelle Mone
Wasn’t alone
But the WhatApp’s missing
Off Rishi’s phone
He gets up in the morning
Brushes his teeth
Puts on some coffee
And condemns Hamas
Drinks some coffee
To the background of the telly
Puts on his shoes
And condemns Hamas
He walks to the station
Picks up a paper
Takes a seat on the train
And condemns Hamas
On the front page
An Israeli sniper
Has shot two women
He condemns Hamas
Shot them in a church
The Holy Family
The Pope says he’s unhappy
He condemns Hamas
A mother and a grandmother
One carrying the other
Shop by a sniper
He condemns Hamas
Layla Moran
Some of them are family
Says it’s a tragedy
He condemns Hamas
Nahida and Samar
Mother and a grandmother
Shot by a sniper
He condemns Hamas
Nahida and Samar
Eylon Levy doesn’t buy it
The IDF deny it
He condemns Hamas
He calls the Pope a liar
Layla Moran a liar
Nahida and Samar
He condemns Hamas
In the Evangelical Christmas Church
Baby Jesus lies in the rubble
In the square, fareless taxi drivers
Form a miserable huddle
In the Church of the Nativity
The grotto is eerily quiet
In Giacaman’s Christmas shop
There’s stock but no one to buy it
In Manger Square, no Christmas tree
As Gaza is brutally trampled
In Bethlehem, in the West Bank
Christmas has been cancelled
There’s a girl on a tinsel-clad donkey
Leading the Christmas Crusade
She sits on a Santa Claus blanket
The donkey looks mighty dismayed
Behind, a man rides a camel
Which really ain’t pleased to be here
Three more dressed like comedy Arabs
They seem full of seasonal cheer
A woman in a tinsel halo
Is she Gabriel in her white sheet?
One of the comedy Arabs
Has posh running shoes on his feet
Another carries a speaker
Through which no music is played
The true meaning is holding up traffic
It’s the Chingford Christmas Parade
Steve White & The Protest Family 