Safer in a war zone
Than strolling round his own home
Spaffer’s on walkabout in Ukraine
He really has a talent
For reputation management
A cock-up covering caper once again
But if he has a second
He should take a trip to Yemen
And watch British bombs being dropped by British planes
Or if he’s of a mind
Walkabout in Palestine
And contemplate their sovereign state claim
‘Cause if he’s safer in a war zone
Than strolling round his own home
There’s lots of war for him to try and game
There’s a gender-neutral toilet in our house
Like the one on a plane
And the one on a train
Like getting caught short in the woods in the rain.
There’s a gender-neutral toilet in our house
So politically correct
What did you expect
One or more types from which to select?
There’s a gender-neutral toilet in our house
How outré
To piss that way
What would the second world war generation say?
Who didn’t have a gender-neutral toilet in their house
Not because of pride
Or of bigotry implied
But because their gender-neutral toilet was outside
They’re crying about woke
They’re crying she’s a bloke
They’re crying ‘bout appendages
The vestiges of yesterdays
They’re crying about words
That they think are absurd
They’re crying ‘bout the language
Being savaged for the damaged
It’s bin bags
Bin bags
It’s just bin bags
Bin bags
They’re crying about Bragg
They think that it’s a drag
That he’s standing with the persecuted
Most disputed and excluded
They’re crying about caring
And storytelling scaring
They’re crying ‘bout the activists
Who won’t assist the anti-ists
It’s bin bags
Bin bags
It’s just bin bags
Bin bags
They said you couldn’t call ‘em
By the colour that they are
They said it was the looney lefties
Who had gone too far
They say that what goes around
Comes around again
And now it’s gender critical, it’s
You can’t call it’s
Minds are small, it’s
Bin bags
Bin bags
It’s just bin bags
Bin bags
They don’t like their lives disrupted
Opinions deconstructed
To understand it’s complicated
Other people should be feted
Not just accommodated
And your words can show that you care
Your words can show that you care
It’s bin bags
Bin bags
It’s just bin bags
Bin bags
Bin bags
The River is inspired by and a tribute to Pauline Town.
Pauline is the beating heart of We Shall Overcome. Every day, her tireless work feeds over one hundred people, homeless and rough sleeping, and she has helped over a thousand people into safe, secure, permanent accommodation.
At the heart of everything that she does is a raw kindness and down-to-earth humanity: a practical socialism that doesn’t judge but raises a fist of anger at the cruelty of the system while extending the helping hand of solidarity.
If Pauline is the beating heart of We Shall Overcome, then it’s spiritual headquarters is her pub, The Station in Ashton-under-Lyne. Over the course of the pandemic, it has become a community hub and place of safety and refuge.
The Station is re-opening as a pub in May 2022 and costs need to be covered alongside the fundraising for food and shelter, so go and have a pint if you can and chuck a few quid in this digital bucket to help our hero keep doing everything that she does to support people living at the roughest edges of Tory austerity.
You can support Pauline in keeping The Station going here.
He’s splutting and coughering
Hot and bloody bothering
Feeling pretty rotten
And he’s tested twice
He’s sneezin’ and wheezin’
And snottin’ like a wee thing
It isn’t very pleasin’
It’s not very nice
But give him a day or two
It takes a while to come to view
He’ll get his second line up too
And now he’s had it twice
It’s Omicron
They call it stealth Omicron
With no rules to rely upon
It’s BA.2 for you and you and you
It’s Omicron
He’s got Stealth Omicron
With no test and no mask on
It’s BA.2 for you and you and you
He thought it was a heavy cold
He thought he’d got it all controlled
Now that LFTs are sold
Who’s gonna buy?
Now he’s coughing and spluttering
Shivering and shuddering
The country is recovering’s
Another lie
He’s one in a million
No, one of a million
Infected civilians
The number’s pretty high
It’s Omicron
They call it stealth Omicron
With no rules to rely upon
It’s BA.2 for you and you and you
It’s Omicron
He’s got Stealth Omicron
With no test and no mask on
It’s BA.2 for you and you and you
He’s one in a million
No, one of a million
Infected civilians
The number’s pretty high
When is it over?
It’s over today
What on earth do you mean, said he
She said, it’s not gone away
But it’s over today
Because tests are no longer free
As a fool once said
In the time that he led
If you don’t look, then you won’t see
So, it’s over today
Without going away
Because tests are no longer free
Gangster government for gangster bosses
Cutting their losses
With jobs and rights
Gangster government for gangster firms
Ripping up terms
To DP’s delight
Gangster governments for gangster companies
P&O Ferries
It ain’t alright
Gangster government’s crocodile tears
As it appears
They knew that night
Gangster government’s Brittania Unchained
Holds workers in disdain
That’s the Tory right
Gangster government for gangster oligarchs
Swimming with the sharks
Forgetting that they bite
Gangster government for gangster lobbies
Ignoring the bodies
With indifferent spite
His Royal Highness
Dressed to oppress
In his brightest whitest colonial best
Atop a Land Rover owned by Queen Bess
Says I feel sorrow about the slaves
I feel so sorry you feel that way
Britannia rules the waves
He owns The Grapes, The Evening Standard, a collection of modern art
He owns the i and The Independent, although the Saudis now own part
He had a pet wolf called Boris, named after Yeltsin, they say
He owns a house in the grounds of Hampton Court Palace, and is a Baron of down that way
Yes, he’s the Baron of Hampton, in Richmond-upon-Thames
Because he counts Boris Johnson amongst his friends
(Who overruled concerns about security)
And his dad used to be in the KGB
I’m visiting Poland to speak about you, but you can’t come in
I’ll light up a building in yellow and blue, but you can’t come in
We’ll tell the world that we’re leading the world, but you can’t come in
And your criticism will go unheard, ‘cause you can’t come in
You can’t come in
No, you can’t come in
This is Priti little Britain
Such a pretty Little Britain
That immigration is forbidden
And you can’t come in
I’ll promise you my solidarity, but you can’t come in
You’d be better off in Poland or Germany, ‘cause you can’t come in
We’re being just as generous as we can, but you can’t come in
We’re expressing our love for our fellow man, but you can’t come in
You can’t come in
No, you can’t come in
This is Priti little Britain
Such a pretty Little Britain
That immigration is forbidden
And you can’t come in
I’ll set up a centre, and then lock the door, ‘cause you can’t come in
There’s a process to follow, just to make sure that you can’t come in
Don’t forget you’re a security threat, so you can’t come in
And we still haven’t housed the Afghans yet, so you can’t come in
You can’t come in
No, you can’t come in
This is Priti little Britain
Such a pretty Little Britain
That immigration is forbidden
And you can’t come in
(Yes, there is a tune. Look out for the next edition of the Protest Family Podcast to hear it.)
Steve White & The Protest Family 