Kicked in the head by airport cops
While Dujardin flogs her horse
For sections of the listenership
The horse was worse of course
Now she’s not going to the Olympics
But the child rapist is
What jobs should rapists be allowed
Is Thursday’s phone-in quiz
On Leading Britain’s Conversation
The hang and flog ‘em crowd
Who never stop to ask
Why Tommy Robinson’s allowed
Which leaves it up to us
To never let the haters win
Leading Britain’s Racists
Back to the fuckin’ bin
Tapping their fascist toes
To Louise Distras, I suppose
A far cry from The Factory Floor
And The Hand You Hold
I suspect this ain’t the album
That many folk were sold
Don’t give up hope
Beryl would remind us
It remains a slippery slope
Category: poetry
The Bullet Came From His Side of the Wall
It got him in the ear
But was aiming for his head
He was up shaking his fist
When he could’ve been brown bread
Underneath a Secret Service sprawl
And the bullet came from his side of the wall
It got him in the ear
And he didn’t even duck
But some others in the crowd
Didn’t have that kind of luck
Corey Contemporare took the fall
And the bullet came from his side of the wall
It got him in the ear
It was a bit tin anyway
He’s less of a listener
And more I’ll have my say
Now he’s a shoe-in for the Whitehouse in the fall
And the bullet came from his side of the wall
Spain 2-1 England
He packs away the pop-up tent
The kids were watching in
And sends congrats
To friends viewing in Spain
In high streets up and down the land
The homeward trudge of England fans
The disappointment
And the not again
No shame in second best
But the DV stats attest
That some blokes really shouldn’t mix booze
With their pain
The armchair rancour piles up
As Morata lifts the cup
Brings an end
To the ’24 campaign
Joe Biden vs. George Clooney
Uncle Joe drops bombs
But he’s stopped telling rights from wrongs
And knowing who is who (is who?)
What’s a democrat to do?
Big fucking deal to big fuck all
Is what fifty million saw
Or fifty-one, says favourite son
George Clooney, born in ‘61
With earnest Hollywood clout
Who’s gonna keep the wall guy out?
A Break in the Weather
I hear that it might have stopped raining
There’s finally some sun forecast
But there are dark clouds over Clacton
A break in the weather that may not last
Reform UK = BNP
Frog-faced fascist Farage
Controls the company
Reform UK, well okay
But it’s just the BNP
Andrew p-word Parker
Canvassing in Clacton
Says he’s mates with Nigel
The fascist first team captain
Andrew wants to turn the mosque
Into a Wetherspoons
Reform UK’s at home today
To all the swivel-eyed loons
Homophobe George Jones
Hollers out the nonces
While Farage get a barrage
About his team’s responses
Frog-faced fascist Farage
Says he is dismayed
By the racist bed he made
In which he is now laid
Derek on the 8:29
Derek left Chingford
On the 8:29
He’s heading east
To the Essex sunshine
Dreaming a life
Like before he was born
He’s heading to Clacton
To vote Reform
Derek left Chingford
On the 8:44
Preferring CO15
To humble E4
The sunshine coast, he says
Is getting pretty warm
He’s heading to Clacton
To vote Reform
Derek left Chingford
On the 8:58
Tendring bound
He don’t wanna be late
He’s leaving East London
Avoiding the swarm
He’s heading to Clacton
To vote Reform
Derek left Chingford
On the 9:13
He knows the platform
Where he wants to be seen
He’s checked the forecast
He’s expecting a storm
He’s heading to Clacton
To vote Reform
Derek left Chingford
On the 9:28
It’s time, he said
To make Clacton great
The folks out there
Know how to conform
He’s heading to Clacton
To vote Reform
Derek left Chingford
On the 09:40
Change at Liverpool Street
He’ll be there shortly
He’s voting Reform
Giving Sunak the sack
He’s heading to Clacton
He ain’t coming back
This is the Real Life
This is the real life
This is the butcher
This the austere knife
The hand that pushed her
These are the cuts
This is the missed meal
This door is shut
This wound will not heal
This is the teacher
With nothing to say
This is the preacher
With no room to pray
This is the healer
Refusing to heal
This is the dealer
With souls to steal
This is the leader
With no will to lead
He’s pleased to meet her
In her hour of need
This is the Jesus
Asleep on the cross
This is God sees us
God don’t give a toss
This is the ceasefire
Where bullets still fly
This is the liar
On whom they rely
This is the snake oil
This is the monorail
This is the frog boil
This is the tall tale
This is the real life
This is the war
This is real spite
Despite the law
These are the orphans
These are the limbs
This is the organ
These are the hymns
This is the refugee
This is the other
This is her rescue me
This is her colour
This is the problem
This is the scapegoat
This is one of them
This is a small boat
These are the wages
These are the prices
These are the places
This is the crisis
This is the circus
These are the clowns
We give them purpose
We give them crowns
This is the real life
Here is your bill
Here come the far-right
Here is the red pill
This is the phone-in
This is the show
No serotonin
Nowhere to go
This is the real life
This is the butcher
This the austere knife
The hand that pushed her
This is the real life
This is the last chance
This is the real life
This is the last dance
Serbia 0-1 England
A plastic chair
Flies through the air
Across a foreign square
Somewhere
Ten German bombers
In the air
And God save the King
Jib in
A one-nil win
Cocaine and lager
Painted skin
On the road
To Berlin
Let the games begin
Milkshake Revolutionaries
He’s joining the race
He’s got it in the face
‘Spoons is the place
For a milkshake facial
Nigel don’t like it
Tommy tried to fight it
He’s gonna have to wipe it
A milkshake facial
No need to bash
The face of the fash
Just give ‘em a splash
Of a milkshake facial
Armed with bananas
Strawberries and blueberries
Here come the milkshake revolutionaries
Steve White & The Protest Family 