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
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
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
Kier says that the suffering is terrible
Kier says that the suffering is wrong
Kier says that he’ll recognise Palestine
Once all the Palestinians are gone
Rachel’s in tears behind the bar of The New Austerity Inn. The boss at the brewery has refused to say if he’ll keep her on or not and the local paper’s got hold of the story.
Against all odds, the locals are rallying round. They might not have forgiven her for trying to chase the old folk out who’d just come in for a bit of warmth during the winter, but it’s their pub, nonetheless, and their loyalty means that the books are starting to look slightly better.
The beer is still awful, mind you.
The robot can’t stick its finger up your arse
But it can interpret your test results
So long as there’s sufficient comparators
In the health databases it consults
(A subject we may return to later
Is why Big Tech is after your NHS data)
And if there’s plenty of others to compare
Then speed-wise it’s in a different class
It can say yes or no without a human there
And it doesn’t stick its finger up your arse
Dear Donny, I’m so sorry I was late
I thought we had two weeks to get the message straight
You know that’s what the airbases are there for, mate
When Ronnie bombed the Libyans, we didn’t hesitate
I’ve got Lammy standing ready with a statement to make
He knows there’s a special relationship at stake
And if there’s war to be made, then war we shall make
I could do with some ban-the-burqa action to take
So, let me know Donny, if you’re gonna bomb some more
I wanna be like Margaret and Tony before
Not getting invited would leave me pretty sore
Dear Donny, I’m sorry I was late for the war
He wears his shoes way too big
And tells the most outrageous lies
He’s got magic healing ears
And blind eyes turned to genocide
His mates are cosplay fascists
But the real deal is him
Dare to disagree
And he’ll send the army in
(While political opponents
Are messily done in)
He’ll tell you that it’s beautiful
While beauty gets short shrift
All hail forty-seven
All hail President Grift
They’re rolling out the tanks
For the trooping of Trump’s colours
While the army train their guns on the workers of L.A.
And he holds Benny’s hand
While he drops bombs on Iranians
And starves Palestinians
I pray for rain on his parade
Jakey’s got a new job
Care of that Supreme Court mob
What’s inside your boxers or briefs?
Jakey’s joined the toilet police
Jakey’s simply upholding the act
He needs to see your biological fact
He’s got his eye on your tomboy niece
Jakey’s joined the toilet police
An orderly queue, if you please
At the checkpoint for the Ladies
In his jackboots and company fleece
Jakey’s joined the toilet police
Steve White & The Protest Family 