They picked my pocket, Susan cried
Unfortunately, Susan lied
(Abetted in her little trick
By LBC and her chum, Nick)
She left her Oyster on the train
And now she’s got it back again
Her cash also came to no harm
But still she’s blaming Sadiq Khan
Author: protestfamily
The world's favourite east London semi-acoustic political sing along folk punk group.
Picking the Pockets of the Dead
We bow to the crown upon his head
While he picks the pockets of the dead
From Morecambe Bay to Pentire Head
If there’s no kin or will to be read
He’ll pick your pocket when you’re dead
Bona vacantia the paper said
It should’ve gone to charity instead
But we bow to the crown upon his head
And he picks the pockets of the dead
I, For One, Welcome Our New Robot Overlords
Automate the CEOs
Replace the bosses with AIs
Programme them with helicopter views
And thinking straight outta blue skies
An online board meeting runs itself
So let the robots take it
And redistribute the company’s wealth
Amongst the folk who made it
Put Up Shut Up Britain Part Four
Stay in school
Stay off the station
Do not protest
Our wicked nation
Get off the statue
Get on the plane
Do not take us
To court again
If it ain’t compulsory
It’s forbidden
Welcome
To Put Up Shut Up Britain
Looking For a Fight
He’s not looking for a fight
He’s looking to look like he’s looking for a fight
He’s flexing little might with the far-right
He’s looking like he’s looking for a fight
He’s at the Cenotaph – singing England ‘til I die
The bobbies wonder why he’s singing England ‘til I die
They thought that remembrance was UK-wide
He’s looking like he’s looking for a fight
He’s at the Cenotaph – shouting at the bobbies
He’s at the Cenotaph – shouting where’s your poppies
Bobbies without poppies – he thinks it isn’t right
He’s looking like he’s looking for a fight
Bobbies without poppies – he thinks it isn’t right
He’s at the Cenotaph – singing England ‘til I die
He’s at the Cenotaph – flexing little might
He’s at the Cenotaph – with the far-right
He’s looking like he’s looking for a fight
Josef
When the shelling stopped
They came for us
Come out with your hands up
A thousand thoughts a second
Tell them you’re a farmer
The prisoners on farms
Seemed to be looked after
If they worked
They took us from Camp Beverlo
To Edingen, Zedelgem
Ostend to Tilbury
Waterloo
The transit camp at Kempton Park
Searches and interrogations
Digging ditches for new homes
Then we built the roads
Purfleet was primitive in ’46
Eight to a tent
Sleeping on the floor
At least amongst the thousands
Someone had a football
Provided by the YMCA
Some they took to work on farms
Others to Romford, a building site
The captain took me to a pig farm in Theydon Bois
Electric light
A radio
Cocoa and cigarettes
It wasn’t like this in the camp
The Morgans made us a Christmas dinner
That I’ll never forget
At Hayes Hill Farm
I met my wife
Hers a summer job
Mine a POW’s labour
Growing tomatoes
Her father, wounded in the First World War
Clearly did not approve
Demobbed
I decided to stay
Taught myself English from a dictionary
One word at a time that I never forgot
Still people ask
Where are you from?
That night in Venlo was cold
Heinz was injured
Karl, Werner and I thought about escape
But the game was up
Where would we have gone?
The Wetherspoons Fusiliers
Derek’s down with the Wetherspoons Fusiliers
Forming up to guard the Cenotaph
From a peaceful march that’ll never go past
At least he’ll salute our brave boys with a few beers
Derek’s down with the Wetherspoons Fusiliers
Following a Tommy licker sergeant major
Guarding a statue that ain’t in danger
‘Fuck off you slags’ the regimental motto sneers
Derek’s down with the Wetherspoons Fusiliers
To be honest he’s feeling a little bit parched
But Suella called ’em out to oppose to a hate march
She whistled up the dogs and Derek’s all ears
Put Up Shut Up Britain Part Three
Banning tents
Grabbing arses
The fancies
Of the ruling classes
Who laugh
At Gaza’s epitaph
While the NF march
Past the Cenotaph
Show some respect
Dissent’s forbidden
Welcome
To Put Up Shut Up Britain
Trickle Down Town: Reviewed by The Devil Has The Best Tuna
From the excoriating take down of the unhinged right on Bin Bags to the Duryesque Cockney wordplay of title track Trickle Down Town with it’s refrain of “only shit trickles down”, Steve and his Protest Family offer more opposition in 43 minutes than Starmer and his gang of wannabe Tories have offered in the last 3 years.
From four hour waits for ambulances to dumping toxic and human waste into our rivers Steve chronicles the state of the nation like a furious Billy Bragg fronting Chumbawumba.
Read the whole review here.
David and Goliath
The years in prison were not kind to Goliath
He grew smaller and weaker while David grew strong
His castles kicked over; his crop destroyed before him
It weighed heavy on Goliath how it had gone so wrong
So, he stood and he shouted at the ranks of Israel
Spoke of the river and the sea, words laden with dread
David called for his sling and selected five stones
He’d settle for no less now than Goliath’s head
He turned out the lights in Goliath’s prison
Gave notice of Goliath’s imminent death
Cut off supplies of food, fuel and water
David crossed the line and the world held its breath
Steve White & The Protest Family 