A poet’s words heard for the first time
Are like something you already knew
A poet should say what needs to be said
A poet should speak it true
A poet should say what you need to hear
And you know she was a poet too
Minneapolis was yet another outrage
But this time she looked like you
Rest In Power, Renee Nicole Good
Nick says it’s audacious
We think it’s outrageous
Kier says nothing to do with us
He’s waiting for all the facts
Nick thinks he’s a giant
We think he’s a tyrant
Kier’s remaining silent
He’s waiting for all the facts
Nick thinks that it’s great
We’re both scared and irate
Kier says just wait
He’s waiting for all the facts
Nick says it’s a flex
And it’s Colombia next
Kier says it’s complex
He’s waiting for all the facts
Nick says nothing ‘bout oil
That makes our blood boil
The question would make Sir Kier recoil
He’s waiting for all the facts
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
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
Put the Christ back into Christmas
The Islam back into Islamophobia
The bigot back into bigotry
The my back into myopia
Put the St. George back into the cross
Put the hat back into Santa
Put the race back into racism
Put the coke back into Fanta
Put the him back into hymns
Put the nation back into nationalism
Put the Christ back into Christmas
Put the Robinson back into prison
He died for his country
The first of the fallen
From Operation Raise The Colours
The tributes came pouring in
From football hooligans
And casual sisters and brothers
Banned for life from Bristol City
Now he’s banned in Bristol City from life
He leaves behind Michele, his wife
He leaves his ladders to the flag committee
His life was colourful, it’s said
Like the roundabouts he painted red
And the thoughts rushing through his head
With the pavement straight ahead
He died for his country
The first of the fallen
From Operation Raise The Colours
My advice: don’t hang the flags at all
But if you do, get some footed help from others
Nasty Norris from the Home Office
Metal detector in hand
Takes jewellery from refugees
At the border to this green and pleasant land
With their human rights in his sights
He claims they cost a billion pounds
His twenty year plan to send them back
Just as grim as it sounds
Dark forces stirring up anger
Prompt his boss’s idea
But with Nasty Norris at The Home Office
The dark forces are here
No longer being a prince ain’t justice
The When-Willy-Is-King hints ain’t justice
Not being the Duke of York ain’t justice
All the media talk ain’t justice
(Not being the Earl of Inverness
Does anyone care less?)
Exile to Sandringham ain’t justice
Surnamed Mountbatten ain’t justice
Not Baron Killyleagh ain’t justice
How long the delay on justice?
They’re just protecting the brand
Letting you think he’s damned
But beyond the pale
Still ain’t in jail
Steve White & The Protest Family 