Liz’s pie is sliced unevenly
Liz is slicing fast and greedily
The biggest slices unbelievably
To the richest irretrievably
Liz’s pie is sliced unevenly
Liz is slicing hard and grievously
The slimmest slices butchered evilly
To those who need them most appreciably
Liz’s pie is sliced unevenly
Equality is not for her you see
Liz trusts in trickle-down unreasonably
So Liz’s pie is sliced unevenly
Think tank
Think tank
Take it to the brink tank
Take a picture in a tank
And send it to the press
Think tank
Think tank
Nod and a wink tank
Shorting city pound tank
The bank is not impressed
Think tank
Think tank
Let the country sink tank
They’re calling it a Kwar-tank
He’s calling it success
Think tank
Think tank
Theories that stink tank
She’ll be gone in a blink tank
What a bloody mess
A murder of crows
A compendium of stories
A parliament of owls
An incompetence of Tories
A reverence of vicars
A selection of alternatives
A righteousness of clergymen
A corruption of Conservatives
An ambush of tigers
An embarrassment of superlatives
A pride of lions
A disgrace of Conservatives
A cartload of chimpanzees
A happiness of glories
A band of gorillas
A circus of Tories
A story as old as Stan.
RIP Molly.
Molly shouted into the wind
But the wind never replied
Molly shouted louder but the wind never hears
The wind just blows on by
All Molly needed was someone to listen….
So, Molly sent a message to her dead-end friends
Dead-end friends are right on trend
Molly sent a message to her dead-end friends
But dead-end friends can’t heal…
‘Cause dead-end friends aren’t real
Molly ran down a one-way street
With something terrible to say
Molly ran harder but nothing came back
Nothing ever comes the other way
All Molly needed was someone to listen
So, Molly sent a message to her dead-end friends
Dead-end friends are right on trend
Molly sent a message to her dead-end friends
But dead-end friends can’t heal…
‘Cause dead-end friends aren’t real
The wind, it never listens
The street, it never changes
The wind, it never listens
And Molly
Was ready
To be among the stars…
Molly sent a message to her dead-end friends
Dead-end friends are right on trend
Molly sent a message to her dead-end friends
But dead-end friends can’t heal…
‘Cause dead-end friends aren’t real
Molly sent a message to her dead-end friends
Dead-end friends are right on trend
Molly sent a message to her dead-end friends
But dead-end friends can’t heal…….
‘Cause dead-end friends aren’t real
Derek’s in the queue
With a bag of whisky miniatures
He’ll need something warm
To get him through the night
He didn’t think his hip flask
Would make it through security
So long as he’s not too pissed
He should be alright
Derek’s in the queue
With a plastic union jack
But flags are not allowed
So he’ll drop it in the street
A patriotic queue
Should have flags, Derek reckons
A patriotic queue
Should stay on its feet
Derek’s in the queue
And there’s too many tourists
They’re the only reason
There’s a sixteen hour wait
It’s an Englishman’s duty
Not a visitor attraction
To be paying your respects
At a lying in state
Derek’s in the queue
And they’ve given him a wristband
I’m not a bloody number
He muttered to the scout
But it’ll come in handy later
When his bladder starts to fail him
They’ve laid on extra toilets
For his big day out
Derek’s in the queue
He’s being part of history
It’s a big occasion
But he doesn’t understand
Why the folk all around him
Are making new queue buddies
Talking to other people
Wasn’t something that he’d planned
Derek’s in the queue
She’s been the Queen all his life
But he’s not a fan of Big Ears
Or Big Ears’s wife
Or Sweaty Andy for that matter
Or failed soldier Eddie
But he reckons that Harry
Might be alright
Derek’s in the queue
And he’s getting cold and tired
But no one likes to say
They might’ve made a big mistake
In the morning he’ll be done
And on a train back to Clacton
With a story for his grandkids
And his good-for-nothing mates
Queuing like a Moscow McDonald’s
Shut down like a Norwich cycle rack
Silenced like Morrisons’ checkout bleeps
Called off like a League Two football match
Cancelled like an RMT strike day
Changed like Kesteven bin collections
Suspended like buskers on the underground
Cut like Met Office weather projections
Stopped like a Regency Town House clock
Held like a hostage in CenterParcs
Postponed like guinea pig awareness
Censored like republican remarks
The queue is ten miles long
From Lambeth Bridge to Southwark Park
Queue in the light, queue in the dark
The queue is ten miles long
The queue is ten miles long
You can view the queue on YouTube
The red button, Insta and Twitter too
The queue is ten miles long
The queue is ten miles long
Reported hourly on the news
Don’t overdo it but you can bring booze
The queue is ten miles long
The queue is ten miles long
With issued wristbands to leave the queue
To join a queue for a Portaloo
The queue is ten miles long
The queue is ten miles long
The manifestation of a queuing nation
The stewards recommend dehydration
The queue is ten miles long
The queue is ten miles long
No sleeping bags, tents or chairs
No flowers, candles or Paddington Bears
The queue is ten miles long
The queue is ten miles long
Except for MPs and their guests
Who just swan in ahead of the rest
The queue is ten miles long
The queue is ten miles long
what3words: bloody.long.queue
With a shorter one at Tate Britain too
The queue is ten miles long
The queue is ten miles long
With a minute at the end in view of the box
Exit the hall via the gift shop
The queue is ten miles long
The Queen is dead, long live the King
With barely pause for breath
Or chance for anyone to ask
If this is for the best
The new PM, not camera-shy
Jumps aboard the royal ride
She wants those headline stories
King Charles the Third, King of the Tories
And old in years but new in post
Big Ears agreed to be her host
As they set out to tour the land
Of crowds policed with heavy hand
Where protest is all but banned
(Such a heinous caper
To hold aloft a piece of paper
Or call out your response
To the presence of a sweaty nonce)
Meanwhile, back in Parliament
The doors stay firmly closed
So no one hears the argument
Against a king imposed
Or his parade’s flamboyance
In a time of crisis
Or his tax avoidance
And the powers that allow this
(Three hundred million quid
God forbid
Remain in royal coffers
Received with little thanks, cap doffers)
No effective government
Since Spaffer’s slow departure
The new Tory incumbent
Threatens even harder
And mourning not withstanding
Has plans to keep rich standing
While the poor just quietly fall
It’s what she would’ve wanted, after all
He inherits the title
Inherits the land
Inherits police
Who with firm hand
Remove any protest
At his quick accession
There’ll be no dissent
At this royal procession
He inherits the title
Inherits the power
The proceeds of empire
His to devour
He inherits the poor
The homeless, the weak
Whose faith in the monarch
Is honest but bleak
He inherits the title
Inherits the wealth
To him it’s tax-free
As they sing to his health
Happy and glorious
God save the King
He doesn’t owe you
A damn fucking thing
They’re sat on thrones
Respect, obey
Their royal bones are on display
Respect, obey them sat on thrones
Respect, obey their royal bones
They’re sat on thrones
Respect, obey
Hold fast your stones
Now’s not the day
Now’s not the day, hold fast your stones
Respect, obey their royal bones
They’re sat on thrones
Respect, obey
They’re sat on thrones
Respect, obey
Their royal bones are on display
The speaker drones, respect, obey
Hold fast your stones, now’s not the day
Respect, obey their royal bones
They’re sat on thrones
Respect, obey
They’re sat on thrones
Respect, obey
The speaker drones, respect, obey
The priest intones, respect, obey
The pauper groans
Respect, obey
Hold fast your stones, now’s not the day
Their royal bones are on display
Their royal bones
They’re sat on thrones
Now’s not the day
Respect, obey
Steve White & The Protest Family 