Sir Kier sheds no tear for Maduro For international law is his call On kidnap, oil and violence From Sir Kier simply silence In a statement as weak as it is small
Sir Kier sheds no tear for Venezuela Of the people, he said nothing at all
On a stormy night, I dreamed of Sid Vicious In the days after the Chelsea Hotel He said I’m running out of time And I’ve got a story to tell Of how he went by Simon or sometimes John And the things mum had done to get by He spoke of heroin and homelessness I let him talk and didn’t reply But then he said that it was Rotten Who’d first called him Sid And Rotten is as Rotten does But it was Malcolm who decided what they did He looked tired, but he could tell That there was something on my mind He paused and looked straight at me I said, Sid, I’ve got to ask why Why, he replied, and I wished I’d not started But he said, spit it out, kid Why, I repeated, finally Why the swastikas, Sid? He looked at his boots and said, you gotta understand The Pistols had to be a hit We needed all the shock that we could muster To shake them all up a bit Malcolm was a pervert and we were cartoons The war was over and the bad guys had lost We made good telly, you know how it is No one really counted the cost And it’s not like we were actually Nazis Just by sporting the kit Not even Lemmy, he added And he really loved that shit Quite the collection of memorabilia Uniforms, knives, flags and belts But Lemmy wasn’t a Nazi He just thought he was better than everyone else But I’ll tell you this, his voice was fading I would never wear one now It was a bit of punk fun in ‘77 But you’ve just got to look around We had the NF pantomime fascists In coopted braces and boots But never politicians and billionaires Throwing up Nazi salutes No, I wouldn’t ever wear one now, Sid said Because someone will wear it and mean it Don’t tell me you never watch TV Don’t tell me you’ve never seen it I would never wear one now, he said I would never wear one now One stormy night, I dreamed of Sid Vicious Though he was long since dead It was the days after the Chelsea Hotel And this is what he said
You are what you read but all you read is your feed You are what you watch just YouTube and Tiktoks You are what you listen to, Model T music Written by robots, use it or lose it
Slop in, slop out Slop in, slop out Slop in, slop out
They sold the lifestyle, you bought the tat Broken tomorrow, never mind that They sold the sizzle, but you bought the sausage Stare at the screen, that’s where the slop is
Slop in, slop out Slop in, slop out Slop in, slop out
You know where this ends In the arms of your virtual girlfriend
Slop in, slop out, Model T music Slop in, slop out, Model T music Slop in, slop out Model T music
A date with Suno, where will you go She steals the tunes, just so you know It’s all a remix, Model T music Written by robots, use it or lose it
Slop in, slop out Slop in, slop out Slop in, slop out
You know where this ends In the arms of your virtual girlfriend
Slop in, slop out, Model T music Slop in, slop out, Model T music Slop in, slop out Model T music
Your grandad shot at nazis taxed the rich and built the NHS You mum fought for equality and fairness, nonetheless we sleepwalked into the arms of bastard billionaires Now you hang flags from lampposts and mouth pantomime prayers
Dogs, pigs, three-year-old kids Eating one the law forbids Convention says the second is Similarly deterred While of the tragic third Consumption is preferred Which is absurd When you consider The pig desires to not be dinner As much as the kid Would rather not get et And don’t forget the dog Who one simply does not eat While he snoozes at your feet Why not let All three be free To snooze and play And not be tea
Where will the musos go When Suno makes the tunes Where will the brushes go When the artist is AI Who will make the art When the robot eats the artists When the robot is a thief Then the art is just a lie
Where will the authors go When the program writes the novels Who will draw cartoons When the satire is AI Who will make the art When the robot eats the artists When the robot is a thief Then the art is just a lie
When the art is just a lie When the art is just a lie Who will sing songs by and by Write the books that make you cry Paint the most amazing sky When the art is just a lie
When computers take to stages In empty concert halls And galleries are filled With no feelings at all How then to be human When the art is all AI When the art has no soul When the art is just a lie
When the art is just a lie When the art is just a lie Who will sing songs by and by Write the books that make you cry Paint the most amazing sky When the art is just a lie
In Eleanor’s vineyard, Tommy’s on his knees, pretending to pray He holds his bible upside down and wonders what Charlie would say His god washed Islamophobic endeavour gains new followers every day But he’s a coked up criminal grifter who’s going away
And they sing ‘Oh, Tommy, Tommy’ and we sing ‘Fuck off’ They sing ‘Oh, Tommy, Tommy’ and we sing ‘Fuck off’ They sing ‘Oh, Tommy, Tommy’ and we sing ‘Fuck off’ Sometimes you just got to get it off your chest They sing ‘Oh, Tommy, Tommy’ and we sing ‘Fuck off’ They sing ‘Oh, Tommy, Tommy’ and we sing ‘Fuck off’ They sing ‘Oh, Tommy, Tommy’ and we sing ‘Fuck off’ Sometimes you just got to get it off your chest
You can’t write everybody off, some folk are just taken in The difference between influenced and influencers is written on the tin But when the fascists are at the door be sure to not let them in And he’s a coked up criminal grifter who should be in the bin
And they sing ‘Oh, Tommy, Tommy’ and we sing ‘Fuck off’ They sing ‘Oh, Tommy, Tommy’ and we sing ‘Fuck off’ They sing ‘Oh, Tommy, Tommy’ and we sing ‘Fuck off’ Sometimes you just got to get it off your chest They sing ‘Oh, Tommy, Tommy’ and we sing ‘Fuck off’ They sing ‘Oh, Tommy, Tommy’ and we sing ‘Fuck off’ They sing ‘Oh, Tommy, Tommy’ and we sing ‘Fuck off’ Sometimes you just got to get it off your chest
Now Jesus of Nazareth was many things But nationalism won’t win you your angel wings Your patriotic cross is just so much toss So you can Oh Tommy Tommy off
When they sing ‘Oh, Tommy, Tommy’ and we sing ‘Fuck off’ They sing ‘Oh, Tommy, Tommy’ and we sing ‘Fuck off’ They sing ‘Oh, Tommy, Tommy’ and we sing ‘Fuck off’ Sometimes you just got to get it off your chest They sing ‘Oh, Tommy, Tommy’ and we sing ‘Fuck off’ They sing ‘Oh, Tommy, Tommy’ and we sing ‘Fuck off’ They sing ‘Oh, Tommy, Tommy’ and we sing ‘Fuck off’ Sometimes you just got to get it off your chest
Steve White & The Protest Family 