Category: COVID-19

One Zero Zero, Zero Zero Zero

There’s blood on the hands of Boris Johnson
Blood on the hands of Dominic Cummings
Blood on the hands of Therese Coffey
Who says that we’re all to blame

There’s blood on the hands of Matt Hancock
Blood on the hands of Dominic Raab
Blood on the hands of Boris Johnson
For whom it’s always been a game

If most of the people follow most of the rules
Most of the rules most of the time
When the rule makers blame the rule breakers
Whose is the greater crime?

One zero zero
Zero zero zero
He’s sticking firmly to his line
On mistakes, now is not the time

There’s blood on the hands of Boris Johnson
Blood on the hands of Priti Patel
Blood on the hands of Gavin Williamson
And Duncan Smith’s hands as well

If most of the people follow most of the rules
Most of the rules most of the time
When the rule makers blame the rule breakers
Whose is the greater crime?

One zero zero
Zero zero zero
He’s sticking firmly to his line
On mistakes, now is not the time

by Categories: COVID-19, Lyrics, SteveTags: , , , , , , , , , , , , 2 Comments

A Million Pounds a Day

How would you spend a million pounds a day?
Buy two small flats in Walthamstow,
Or a big one, round Hackney way?
You could give up work and visit Marseilles,
Or park a new Ferrari, on your new driveway.
If you sliced your drive, you could buy the fairway,
Or put on a play, on Broadway.
You could spend a million pounds on Monday,
And have a million more again on Tuesday.
You could hire Elton John to play
Or Adele, or even Beyoncé
For three performances a day.
You could buy a small painting by Monet
Or quite a few by Bernard Buffet.
You could wear a new pair of trainers every day,
Then give ‘em away.
And never mind coffee, you could buy the café.

But if you find yourself round Downing Street way,
You’ll send your million pounds a day
Your mate Dido Harding’s way
Who gives it all to Deloitte, they say
For test and trace that even today
Is still not okay.

by Categories: COVID-19, poetry, SteveTags: , , , , , , Leave a comment

Maxine and Henry

The OCEANS1 have spoken and this is what they say:
Maxine wants the vaccine but hesitant Henry
Will leave it for another day.
Maxine figures that “yes” is the word
But “no” is the word triggering some of the herd
Or “not yet” like Henry’s hedging bet.
What’s good for Maxine is good for you
As the herd starts to build immunity too,
Not like Henry’s individualist minority view.
Now, Henry says he has no truck with conspiracy
But his hesitancy is evidently
Led by talk of speed and efficacy
And side-effects versus getting the disease,
But please.
The difference between Maxine and Henry
Is clear to see.
Maxine cares about us,
Henry cares about me.

1 Oxford Coronavirus Explanations, Attitudes and Narratives Survey

by Categories: COVID-19, poetry, SteveTags: , , , , Leave a comment

Cough Away

We’ve been in this pandemic a year or more
Cough away boys, cough away
A global pandemic from shore to shore
Cough away boys, cough away

Cough away, cough away
Cough away boys, cough away
Cough away, cough away
This was all she had to say

Governments respond very differently
Cough away boys, cough away
Based on the fact society
Cough away boys, cough away

We’ve seen just deaths around the world
Cough away boys, cough away
Harrowing death tolls around the world
Cough away boys, cough away

We let the scientists and medics guide us
Cough away boys, cough away
So there’s no single reason for you to chide us
Cough away boys, cough away

The numbers are deeply tragic
Cough away boys, cough away
But it’s still a global pandemic
Cough away boys, cough away

You know in the future we’ll all look back
Cough away boys, cough away
At the could haves the should haves we can’t take back
Cough away boys, cough away

If you think this is a speech with nothing to say
Cough away boys, cough away
It was Priti Patel just the other day
Cough away boys, cough away

  • What she actually said. (Courtesy of Michael Spicer).

by Categories: COVID-19, Lyrics, SteveTags: , , , , , 2 Comments

Jacob’s Fish Are Happy Fish

Born in Hammersmith
Went to school at Eton
Then Trinity College
Oxford
Presided over the Tory
Association
Went into the City
Started a hedge fund
Amassed what they call
A significant fortune
Estimated worth
150 million
Married into money
Helen The Chair
A mate of his sister’s
Who was always there

Jacob’s fish are happy fish
Jacob’s fish are happy fish
Jacob’s fish are happy fish
Jacob’s fish are happy fish

Moved into politics
In ‘97
Didn’t get elected then
Or even at the next ‘un
In Scotland they though he was
Too posh
Canvassing with nanny
Got a resounding 9%
Fuck off, toff
Complained to Piggy Cameron
That his quotas weren’t right
Said parliament oughta be
95% white
Nicked a speech off Trevor Kavanagh
Faked an interview and then
Got a seat in North East Somerset
In 2010

Jacob’s fish are happy fish
Jacob’s fish are happy fish
Jacob’s fish are happy fish
Jacob’s fish are happy fish

In parliament he became
King of the filibuster
Thought he was funny
With his history and verse
Holding the record in the Commons
For the longest word spoken
But spoke other words
That were even worse
Addressing members of the far-right
Traditional Britain society
Who would have some of us
Made deportees
And said quarter of a million quid
Spent on MPs portraits
Was just chicken feed

Jacob’s fish are happy fish
Jacob’s fish are happy fish
Jacob’s fish are happy fish
Jacob’s fish are happy fish

He got a hand up into government
From a fellow Old Etonian
Leader of the House of Commons, no less
Then was kept away from the mics and the cameras
After he said the Grenfell victims
Lacked common sense
Now , chief Eurosceptic
Out of all the Eurosceptics
Said Trump will be our best ally
After Brexit
He likes Brits to be Brits
And the poor to be poor
And says gay marriage
Still breaks the church’s law

Jacob’s fish are happy fish
Jacob’s fish are happy fish
Jacob’s fish are happy fish
Jacob’s fish are happy fish

He broke the lockdown rules
‘Cos he prefers a Latin mass
His relationship with god
Is more important, more pious
Than your relationship
With coronavirus
He wasn’t born to follow
He was born to lead
And his vicious defence of the status quo
Is just born of greed

Jacob’s fish are happy fish
Jacob’s fish are happy fish
Jacob’s fish are happy fish
Jacob’s fish are happy fish
But Jacob can just fuck off

by Categories: COVID-19, Lyrics, SteveTags: , , , , , , , , , 1 Comment

The Singles Club

No, not that sort of club.

After the success of Santa is English, we’ve decided for as long as we’re locked down we’ll produce and put out a new video every few weeks, recorded and shot in isolation but brought together by our nascent mixing and video editing skills and the power of the internet.

The first one lands this week, using up previously unreleased footage from the last time that we were allowed to meet up outdoors, after that, we really are flying solo (together).

by Categories: COVID-19, Protest FamilyTags: , , , , , Leave a comment

My Postie’s Being Bullied by Iain Duncan Smith

My postie’s being bullied by Iain Duncan Smith
With his smug face and folded arms
On posters showing all his charmless DWP-ness
And shaming sick statistics,
A careless Tory trick which
Doesn’t mention COVID at all.
A deliberate omission
From a man in his position.
“43% are absent from work” he cries
To his allies
About workers they despise
Though, in truth, deserving of a pay rise
For tireless work on the pandemic front line
Getting your mail to you on time,
Because when it’s not just a touch of the ‘flu
Post every other day will do.
So, I am righteously miffed
That my postie’s being bullied by Iain Duncan Smith

by Categories: COVID-19, poetry, SteveTags: , , , , , , 1 Comment

Right Bullets, Wrong Gun

The right bullets fired from the wrong gun
Will miss their target one by one
There’s only one sharp shot in a Johnson
Now we’ve got the right bullets
In the wrong gun

When the truth as you tell it changes
From sunrise to sunset
When definitely safe means definitely not safe
This is the recoil that you’ll get
And you’re not as persuasive
As your Latin teacher told ya
And you’re relying on a fair wind
To get you that far
When no one believes you know
The what or the how
Not even JVT
Can help you now

The right bullets fired from the wrong gun
Missing their targets one by one
There’s only one sharp shot in a Johnson
It’s the right bullets
In the wrong gun

Don’t say
We are where we are
We are where we are, we are where we are
Where are we?
We are where we are
We are where we are, we are where we are
Don’t say where are we?

When the truth as you tell it changes
From speech to speech and ear to ear
When definitely safe means definitely not safe
This is the recoil that you fear
And you’re not as persuasive
As your Latin teacher told ya
And you’re relying on a fair wind
To get you that far
When no one believes you know
The what or the how
Not even JVT
Can help you now

The right bullets fired from the wrong gun
Missing their targets one by one
There’s only one sharp shot in a Johnson
It’s the right bullets
Fired by the wrong gun

by Categories: COVID-19, Lyrics, SteveTags: , , , , , , , , 2 Comments

‘Tis the Season to be Jolly Careful

We stream supporterless football
And pass punterless pubs
In tearful tiers
Over clubberless clubs

Now the variant’s British
And tranmission’s enhanced
Making quarantined skiers
Scarper home via France

The taxis are starving
Ambulances sated
Your Christmas tree’s wilted
And Santa’s deflated

We’ve got troublesome bubbles
With persistent coughs
While Boxing Day hunts
Ride with law-breaking toffs

“Christmas must be saved
Like St. Pauls, at all cost”
A spaffed exhaltation
Fingers firmly crossed

‘Tis the season to be
In tiers four, two and three
‘Tis the season to be
Jolly careful

by Categories: COVID-19, poetry, SteveTags: , , , , , , , Leave a comment

The Golden-Haired Boy

It’s that awkward bit between Christmas and New Year when you’d struggle to find things to fill newspapers with anyway, never mind the pandemic, so one of the leading lights of the Tory press, riffing on the idea of Spaffer’s miracles following his rising from the near dead at Easter, publishes a story about his latest offspring’s wonderous artistic ability. Well, it is Christmas, and a story so preposterous that they couldn’t get a journalist to put their name to it.

It’s the Xmas perineum between the 25th and the 31st
You’ve eaten, drunk and been merry ‘til your fit to burst
There’s no football, no music, no pubs in Tier 4
Not much to do if you step out of your door

Is there anything to look forward to that ain’t austere?

Well, the golden-haired boy, just eight months old
The golden-haired boy, just eight months old
The golden-haired boy, just eight months old
Crafted a hand-painted image
Of a reindeer
Of a reindeer

There’s Driver Tizer lining the hedgerows of the Garden of England
British Variant COVID making its presence felt, and
Miles and miles of queues to get into Dover
Thousands of truckers wishing Christmas was over

Is there any news to help Tories be of good cheer?

Well, there’s a golden-haired boy, just eight months old
There’s a golden-haired boy, just eight months old
There’s a golden-haired boy, just eight months old
Who crafted a hand-painted image
Of a reindeer
Of a reindeer

‘Cos Spaffer might’ve nearly died for your sins
But it’s his miracle child that’s now the thing
With The Telegraph fawning over his painting
He’s clearly the one born to be king

This golden-haired boy, just eight months old
This golden-haired boy, just eight months old
(What number is he again?)
This golden-haired boy, just eight months old
Crafted a hand-painted miracle image
Hand-painted, miracle image
Of a reindeer
Of a reindeer

by Categories: COVID-19, Lyrics, SteveTags: , , , , , , , 1 Comment