If you climb a lamppost in Romford
You can see Clacton-on-Sea
The roundabouts all lead to Essex
Where the punters say they’d rather be
Paying their taxes in crypto
Or rolls of used twenty-pound notes
A borough landlocked celebrating
How now they can stop the boats
If you climb a lamppost in Romford
You can see Clacton-on-Sea
Where give ‘em a chance to fuck it all up
Is the only hope there seems to be
The men who would be king
More than anything
By birthright, exercise of might
Or ear-bloodied “fight, fight, fight”
Shake hands for the press clips
Lend their names to battle ships
Share sotto voce quips
Of lives so obscenely rich
There are no lengths to which
They will not go
To protect the status quo
So, while the radio
Squawks “Awks!”
The money talks
Eats lavish dinners
Knows who are the real winners
Knows it’s them not us
Chinks glasses while you fuss
T’was ever thus
But power won at point of sword
Or from a populace so bored
Of being told they can’t afford
Their just reward
Suggests; protests
That a royal visit’s best ignored
The patron saint of roundabouts
Zip-tied flags and far-right louts
The patron saint of Stop The Boats
And disaffected Brexit votes
The patron saint of LBC
GB News and Talk TV
The saint of plain hostility
To anyone who ain’t like me
The patron saint of wooden crosses
Crumbling and rotten
The patron saint of you can’t have it
Races to the bottom
The patron saint of two world wars
And one lousy world cup
Where are you now our dear St George
How badly did you fuck it up?
The years in prison were not kind to Goliath
He grew smaller and weaker while David grew strong
His castles kicked over; his crop destroyed before him
It weighed heavy on Goliath how it had gone so wrong
So, he stood and he shouted at the ranks of Israel
From the river to the sea, words laden with dread
David called for his sling and selected five stones
He’d settle for no less now than Goliath’s head
He turned out the lights in Goliath’s prison
Cut off supplies, cut off the outside
Gave Goliath notice of the date and time
We held our breath; David crossed the line
His stones flew hard, his stones flew long
Let only God tell me that I’m doing wrong
Women and children in their thousands gone
While David bayed Goliath you do not belong
We cried stop, David said I will not
Not while Goliath still breathes
Not while my friends in the west send stones
Not while my friends in the west send stones
Not while my friends in the west send drones
And bombs for me to drop
David said, I will not stop
The housewife’s flutter, pick one by its name
The workplace sweepstake’s just the same
Hey Charlie, don’t fancy your horse
The Queen always loved it, of course
It’s the cheery item at the end of The News
Counting up how many horses lose
We can join our reporter now in Aintree Way
It’s Grand National Cheering On The Killing Of Horses Day
Jesus, said Jesus, awake on the cross
What d’you have to go and summon Satan for?
I’m supposed to sleep in for a couple of days
But now there’s all this chaos and war
And he’s everywhere, TV and radio
Right across the social media shitshow
Wherever your midnight doom scrolling might go
With a bunch of leering demons in tow
Wait, you expected hellfire and brimstone
With a laptop and a mobile phone?
C’mon, horns and hooves are a bit mediaeval
These days he manifests as real estate evil
With a raging, rambling, boiling sea of lies
And an infernal wardrobe full of red ties
Every time he smiles a Gazan baby dies
And he has nothing but greed in his eyes
Jesus, said Jesus, awake on the cross
You let out death, famine, conquest and war
You say you’re Christians, but you don’t care for the poor
What d’you have to go and summon Satan for?
Nigel the talking frog’s coin-operated
A cameo Nazi for just a few quid
Birthday greetings for the racist on a budget
Send your pal a Kick-‘Em-Out Farage vid
Nigel the talking frog’s coin-operated
A cameo Nazi bought and paid for
What he’d say for free, he says for a fee
The grift that the internet was made for
I never liked carrying Churchill in my pocket
But now no one ever uses cash to pay
Still, I’d rather have a hedgehog on a fiver
Than a warmongering toff any day
Raises his fists up to his eyes
Waves them slowly side to side
Waves them like a fist goodbye
To children where his bombers fly
A pumpkin he, made rotting flesh
Dancing ‘til there’s nothing left
His awful orange swaying heft
Of simple principle bereft
An ogre’s dance in tracer light
An ogre’s sleight, an ogre’s spite
An ogre’s drooling appetite
The ogre set the world alight
Steve White & The Protest Family 