What the fuck are resignation honours
Can they be bought with foreign dollars
Or are they just for a certain type of cad
Like the ex-PM’s wife-beating dad
With form for familial awards
Having put his brother in the House of Lords
If we’re to let him have his way
Then their post-nominals all should say
KBTW, BJ
Displayed proudly by their name
Arise, Sir Stanley, Lord of Wrong ‘Un
Knighted by that wanker, Boris Johnson
Get a job, get a second job, get a better job
And pretend that Covid never happened
Budget for your tea, better budget 30p
And pretend that there’s no increase in the gap, and
You’re gonna have to wait four hours for an ambulance
You’re gonna have to live at home with your parents
You’re gonna have companies that don’t do what they oughta
You’re gonna have some of them shitting in the water
Do away with your daily latte
Your Netflix subscription will have to wait another day
Bring your bus pass if you want to have a vote
Don’t turn up here in a small boat
Be prepared to join a queue
For tomatoes, cucumbers too
But a good little Brit knows what to do
Go to work on some turnip stew
Welcome to Put Up Shut Up Britain
Welcome to Put Up Shut Up Britain
Welcome to Put Up Shut Up Britain
Welcome to Put Up Shut Up Britain
There’s too much choice these days, says Thérèse
Vote tomatoes, get turnips
We’re not to blame for the rain in Spain
Vote tomatoes, get turnips
Cherish specialism, not pessimism
Vote tomatoes, get turnips
The bill’s too high for your local supply
Vote tomatoes, get turnips
Fruit and veg ration is the latest fashion
Vote tomatoes, get turnips
And it’s nothing to do with leaving the EU
Vote tomatoes, get turnips
Willy’s at the foodbank
Polishing the brand
Stepping from the Range Rover
With nothing in his hand
Kate is in a pink coat
Willy’s jumper’s green
They’ve brought a photographer
They’re here to be seen
Willy’s at the foodbank
Chatting to the staff
Kate is sorting out the tins
They’re both having a laugh
Like this is all so normal
This whip round for the poor
With his green-jumpered patronage
And the pink coat that she wore
Willy’s at the foodbank
And no one’s going to say
That they never used to need
A foodbank round this way
Kate is in a pink coat
Willy’s jumper’s green
While the folk who use the foodbank
Are neither heard nor seen
‘Cause some of them are nurses
And that would never do
The Prince bestowing loaves of bread
When claps would surely do
They’ve brought a photographer
To keep the image clean
Kate is in a pink coat
And Willy’s jumper’s green
“The gable still ain’t in the middle”
And it never was, coming as it did, second-hand from Mitcham Stadium, the brainchild of entrepreneur Sydney Parkes who built it in 1935, hosting among other things, rugby league, baseball and greyhound racing and, although the latter is disputed, the gable was built to be in line with the finish line.
Mitcham Stadium closed in 1955 and the stand was bought by Leyton Orient who gave it a new lease of life at Brisbane Road in 1958.
There’s much more of this story here and here, but in the meantime, our brand new video premieres next week, and you can find that here:
Let me tell you ‘bout a boy named Harry
And all the fuss about the girl he married
She weren’t like them, she was a celebrity
No eyes of blue, American too
She would never fit in to their family
But she sang
Harry, Harry won’t you fly with me
It could be so much better
Shooting Taliban together
What a power couple we will be
Let me tell you ’bout a bloke called Charlie
Spent his whole life waiting for his mum’s last party
Crowned at last and everything would be alright
Then son number one
And son number two
Had a set too and broke the dog’s bowl in a fight
While she sang
Harry, Harry won’t you fly with me
It could be so much better
Shooting Taliban together
What a power couple we will be
Let me tell you ’bout a woman called Camilla
Charlie’s regular date for dinner
The Princess of All Our Hearts ain’t for me
I wanna be your tampon
Come on, let’s get it on
I don’t care if I’m indiscreet
And she sang
Harry, Harry won’t you fly with me
It could be so much better
Shooting Taliban together
What a power couple we will be
Let me tell you ’bout a prince called William
The whole of Wales was his dominion
Hier to the throne, all he has to do is stay alive
But he fought with his brother
In the absence of his mother
About their choice of royal wives
And she sang
Harry, Harry won’t you fly with me
It could be so much better
Shooting Taliban together
What a power couple we will be
Let me tell you ’bout the whole damn lot of ‘em
How much better it would be to be shot of ‘em
Off with their heads, and those of all their friends
Gold, gilt and greed
Something we don’t need
And that’s the way the story ends
While she sang
Harry, Harry won’t you fly with me
It could be so much better
Shooting Taliban together
What a power couple we will be
She’s on a virtual ward
In a virtual hospital
She saw a virtual doctor
On a video call
She said your virtual op
Will just have to wait
Theatre virtually
Always runs late
She got a virtual ambulance
All the way down the stairs
No virtual paramedic, though
In virtual care
She’s in a virtual hospital
Under a virtual team
They promised us forty
Just not virtually
She’s on a virtual ward
Receiving virtual care
From a virtual government
That virtually doesn’t
Stephen Graham OBE
Virginia McKenna from Born Free
Brian May, well he was in Queen
Dara McNulty, the naturalist teen
Four Lionesses but not the others
Two dead kids’ campaigning mothers
Lissie Harper for law reforming
Rachel Riley who hated Corbyn
Ivan Menezes for running a company
Like Johnny Boden CBE
Over half the honours still go to blokes
Frank Skinner got one for telling jokes
All summoned to Empire by royal shout-out
Inside the tent now, pissing out
Steve White & The Protest Family 