Author: protestfamily

The world's favourite east London semi-acoustic political sing along folk punk group.

Rock The Joint Review Evidence-Based Punk Rock

Here’s what they had to say:

A stylish punk attitude blended with some mixed ingredients, and a biting blast at some of the things happening in our world today. We need to channel social protest into music, and whether we agree with all of it or not there is a really important role for protest music under a government that is trying to close free speech down.

[The album] is sharp, witty, biting and unashamedly political – a record that challenges, provokes and reminds us that punk, at its core, is still an attitude, a voice for the outsider. Steve White and The Protest Family have delivered an album that carries the spirit of Bragg and Dury into the present, holding a mirror up to our fractured times with both grit and humour.

Read the full review here.

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A Second State Visit

The flags are out for the predators
The flags are out for the sex pests
From Tommy’s long list of abusers
To Epstein’s special guest

The flags are out for the Rapist-in-Chief
Meet the King, wave to the crowd
The flags are out for the predators
Don’t it make you fuckin’ proud

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A Five-Star “Must Listen” Review of Evidence-Based Punk Rock From Folk London

A – surprisingly – thoroughly enjoyable romp through the distressing state of current affairs seen through the eyes of Steve Wright [sic] as he takes us on a tour of the nearly fictional country of Put Up Shut Up Britain.

…I have to say I found the driving pulsating rhythms of the Protest Family totally refreshing with its infectious energy and joyfulness surprisingly uplifting.

I never thought I would find myself recommending a CD that reflects the daily news we all dread hearing but I am. Unequivocally!

Get your copy here.

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Oh England (Can You Tell Me Where It Hurts?)

This land of riches, this land of rags
This land of lampposts and angry flags
Of roundabouts and hasty tags
Oh England, can you tell me where it hurts

This land of swine, this land of pearls
This land of violence ‘gainst women and girls
This land that squints out at the world
Oh England, can you tell me where it hurts
Oh England, can you tell me where it hurts

The pain is real
The pain is there
The pain you feel
The pain’s unfair
When you feel there’s nowhere left to turn
History has a lesson
You need to learn

Is it the hours and days on hold
The choice of hunger or of cold
Just the sheer lack of control
Oh England, can you tell me where it hurts

Is it the blank-faced lawyer and his blank-faced crew
Paralysed without a clue
When they say they know what to do
Oh England, can you tell me where it hurts
Oh England, can you tell me where it hurts

The pain is real
The pain is there
The pain you feel
The pain’s unfair
When you feel there’s nowhere left to turn
History has a lesson
You need to learn

This land of hope and former glory
Rich colour in the nation’s story
By land and sea and century
Oh England, can you tell me where it hurts

This land of wider still and wider
Shrinking in the light of day
Of awkward empire pride and shame
Oh England, can you tell me where it hurts
Oh England, can you tell me where it hurts

This land of drawbridges and moats
This land of pointless wasted votes
This land obsessed with small boats
Oh England, can you tell me where it hurts
Oh England, can you tell me where it hurts
Oh England, can you tell me where it hurts

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Shot With Guns

It’s their Second Amendment right, they say
To carry a gun
Just in case they feel the need
To shoot someone
The price they pay, they say
For carrying guns
Is quite a long list
Of shot someones

There goes another one
There goes another one
On the long list of someones
Shot with guns

This one’s name was Charlie
Not a nice chap
But not nice ain’t no reason
To get shot at
On tour with his horror show
And on the MAGA cheque
Poor old Nasty Charlie
Got one in the neck

There goes another one
There goes another one
On the long list of someones
Shot with guns

They’ve got school shootings
They’ve got mall shootings
They’ve got police shootings
They’ve got belief shootings
They’ve got fear shootings
They’ve even got ear shootings
And a long list of someones shot with guns

There goes another one
There goes another one
On the long list of someones
Shot with guns

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The Flag

The news is vile, the comments worse
This septic isle is in reverse
They say there’s debt to reimburse
While rich folk rob the public purse

Their greed exceeds your hour of need
While leaders short in word and deed
Let the reins of power concede
To a frog-faced smoking man in tweed

And the trick they play they say the flag is yours
Flown at one world cup and two world wars
A tawdry cross daubed across any old white rag
I’ll never swear allegiance to the flag

They’ll have you pledge a sacred vow
They’ll take salutes, you scrape and bow
Forbid what they do not allow
So long as you do not ask how

They got there and you got here
With cigarettes and pints of beer
From school to stock market career
You know it’s clear, you know it’s fear

And the trick they play they say the flag is yours
Flown at one world cup and two world wars
A tawdry cross daubed across any old white rag
I’ll never swear allegiance to the flag

It ain’t our flag, it’s handed down
By billionaire, state and crown
It ain’t our flag for taking back
Our colours include brown and black
It ain’t our flag loaded with fear
It ain’t our flag, it won’t fly here

And the trick they play they say the flag is yours
Flown at one world cup and two world wars
A tawdry cross daubed across any old white rag
I’ll never swear allegiance to the flag

And the trick they play they say the flag is yours
Flown at one world cup and two world wars
A tawdry cross daubed across any old white rag
I’ll never swear allegiance to the flag

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Mass Deportation Masturbation

Frog-faced fascist Farage
The tinpot TikTok wannabe dictator
Squawks deport ‘em all, let God sort ‘em out
Dreams of riots, five quid flags
And mini roundabouts
Dreams of Trump-ish sanctions
And Taliban transactions

It’s mass deportation masturbation
For a nation that’s been
Squeezed, plucked
Furloughed, fucked
Despairing for an answer
But stranded with a chancer
In stockbroker tweed
When what they need
Is far less greed
From those that have it all already
Such as him

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Bring Back The Dancing Coppers

Bring back the dancing coppers
Bring back community
Bring back using lampposts
Just the light the street
Bring back the dancing coppers
Bring back giving a fuck about each other
Bring back understanding
Whose wealth is expanding

Bring back the dancing coppers
Bring back community
Bring back using lampposts
Just the light the street

Paul lives in a country
With no parliament or king
His flag has no status
Except with racists and their kin
Paul lives in a country
Where even the roundabouts are white
His crusade’s embarrassing
And not a pretty sight

Bring back the dancing coppers
Bring back community
Bring back using lampposts
Just the light the street

You can join Reform UK
But don’t get excited
The party’s for the very rich
And you ain’t invited
Reform FC is not a team
You want to bet your life on
Nigel’s not the football type
His word can’t be relied on

Bring back the dancing coppers
Bring back community
Bring back using lampposts
Just the light the street

Bring back the experts
Bring back the truth
Facts don’t have another side
For anyone to choose
Bring back the right questions
Bin the clickbait and the quotes
None of your problems
Arrived here on small boats

Bring back the dancing coppers
Bring back community
Bring back using lampposts
Just the light the street

If you fly the flag to intimidate
If you sneak it up at night
If you fly it to say you’re not welcome here
If you fly it out of spite
Then you don’t fly the flag for me
You don’t fly the flag for this country
You fly it for the fascists
And we will tear it down

Bring back the dancing coppers
Bring back community
Bring back using lampposts
Just the light the street

If you fly the flag to intimidate
If you sneak it up at night
If you fly it to say you’re not welcome here
If you fly it out of spite
Then you don’t fly the flag for me
You don’t fly the flag for this country
You fly it for the fascists
And we will tear it down

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Operation Raise The Colours

Made in China from the finest polyester
Bought in bulk from that Bezos bloke
No official status in the state apparatus
It says I’m English mate, it says I’m not woke

It says I’m proud that there used to be a library here
Named after some statue or other
I’m proud of the flats that I will never afford
And the bedroom that I share with my brother

I’m proud of Jimmy Dyson, the entrepreneur
Shame his hoovers ain’t made round here no more
And I’m proud of Jerry Clarkson and his comedy farm
His avoiding tax ain’t doing me no harm

Proud of the mums of Epping draped in flags
With sons in the party and mates on tags
The GB News-er who runs his own boozer
And the RefUK councillor who’s a sex abuser

It says I’m proud of our culture, proud to be default
Proud of Nigel’s millions and the fine wine in his vault
Proud of the riots after the Southport attack
I’m proud we fought the fascists and I’m proud they’re coming back

Made in China from the finest polyester
Twelve quid on eBay for two
Not intended to intimidate, oh wait
Coming to a lamppost near you

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