The publicly Christian
privately fascist
ex-public schoolboy
knife in his fist
is a failed kidnapper
failed The Hussars
throws steroid tantrums
drives borrowed cars
and we are told
fourteen years ago
a failure who pissed himself
in Walthamstow
Author: protestfamily
The world's favourite east London semi-acoustic political sing along folk punk group.
Spilling Racists’ Coffee/Getting Ready For The War
Spilling racists’ coffee
Getting ready for the war
I heard they banned the action
Couldn’t stand them any more
While Donald Trump sends prison ships
To the Straits of Hormuz
The buzzing of the drones
Drowns out the words he can’t defuse
And voices on my radio
Ask who will pay for this
The politicians answer
Take the benefits
Off boys in balaclavas
Shocking shoppers in the town
And absent dads masked up in ports
To shut the lifeboats down
Or feckless old folk triple-locked
They say we can’t afford
While pandering to donors
Who hide all theirs abroad
Spilling racists’ coffee
Rupert screeching it’s so wrong
He wants to ban the protests
But he’d never ban the bomb
That don’t fit the story
Where he says that he’ll restore
An imaginary Britain
Getting ready for the war
Drunk on Blitz spirit
When they lied about their age
Trapped in algorithms
Grifting on their rage
An attack by boiling liquid
Melted snowflakes in the street
Spilling racists’ coffee
Hear them bleating in retreat
Save your outrage mate
There’s a real war on its way
That just how the maths works
When there’s shareholders to pay
Spilling racists’ coffee
Milkshaken to the core
Just waiting for an Archduke
Getting ready for the war
Breaking Britain Part Two
He eats and shits
And shits and eats
And eats and shits some more
You know the shit
You’ll hear you think
When he begins to talk
Of foodstuffs
And fisticuffs
An England that’s broke
A tirade between mouthfuls
Can of lager
Jack and Coke
Respect our flag
Fuck off you slag
A fat stain on a paper bag
A drag of vape
There’s no escape
You know there’ll be no peace
While he feeds on the grease
Of the recently deceased
It’s all the fault you see
Excepting present company
You know the rest
It’s a test
Of your identity
Men of fighting age
In women’s clothes
It’s all the rage
That’s why he loathes
Any threat he sees
To flags and families
Already battered in the breeze
Of top-down austerity
He eats and shits
And shits and eats
And eats and shits on yours
You wonder how much shit you’ll eat
To find a common cause
Heads They Win (Tails You Lose)
Heads they win, tails you lose
These two sides do not confuse
Heads might tell you that they’re tails
But calling heads still always fails
And when they make you choose
It’s heads they win, tails you lose
Chris, he sailed for destiny
Lost, looking for the East Indies
America it soon will be
And we’ll take everything for free
It’s heads we win, and tails you lose
Heads they win, tails you lose
These two sides do not confuse
Heads might tell you that they’re tails
But calling heads still always fails
And when they make you choose
It’s heads they win, tails you lose
My father’s house his father’s too
‘Til men with guns told us to move
God promised us this house and land
God’s guns will help you understand
It’s heads we win, and tails you lose
Heads they win, tails you lose
These two sides do not confuse
Heads might tell you that they’re tails
But calling heads still always fails
And when they make you choose
It’s heads they win, tails you lose
Beautiful Days, Reviewed by Musomuso
Steve White & The Protest Family at the Rebel Tent, bracing, rough-and-ready punk tackling the cost of living from a gang of lads who look like they understand the parlous state of modern Britain all too well. “Evidence-based punk rock” they call it, what’s not to like?
Read the full review here.
Frogface Is Missing
We don’t hear him on the radio
We don’t see him on TV
It’s got us all a-wondering
Where might old Frogface be?
He won’t ring Nick Ferrari
He’s a Question Time absentee
If he’s out there drinking Chablis
It ain’t in Clacton-on-Sea
Is he hiding out with young Posh George
Or in Cryptoland with Chris?
For someone so ubiquitous
Something must be amiss
His office said ‘He’s working from home’
But didn’t say which one
The speculation’s rising
That Frogface might be done
