Category: Steve

Money Goes to Money

They’re running rather than getting beat
They’re starting to vote with their feet
The rats are leaving faster than the ship can sink
Like their shit doesn’t stink
Like their shit ain’t on the brink
Like it ain’t shit to think
That money goes to money is okay
That money goes to money is the only way
That money goes to money
Goes to money goes to money

Meanwhile in an imaginary navy
Penny’s insincere smile
Mouths coyly look at me
Admire my philanthropy
Admire my new food pantry
While opposing free school meals
Don’t that just hit you in the feels?
A proper Scrooge turned fake Marley
As the money goes to money
Goes to money goes to money

The posties on the picket know
They’ve got to hold the line
Firefighters, nurses, teachers
Among the left behind
As the money goes to money
And the warm bank number grows
The money goes to money
And the pubs begin to close
As the money goes to money
Goes to money goes to money

They ain’t here to manage the crisis
Just the TV news
This morning’s media message is
Another excuse to bruise
The money goes to money
As they put the word about
That there ain’t no money
You’ll just have to do without
As the money goes to money
Goes to money goes to money

Lynch’s mob don’t need to strike
The train’s already fucked
And Mrs Smith’s replacement hips
Well, she’s just out of luck
Hancock, pushed, jumped anyway
Says he’s still got lots to say
Not even in opposition
Would there be a point to listen
While the money goes to money
Goes to money goes to money

The money knows no borders
The money knows no shame
The money only hears the sighs
Of the rich who coo its name
Like Michelle, Robber Baroness
The PPE millionairess
Banished as Rishi fakes it tough
She’ll be back soon enough
As the money goes to money
Goes to money goes to money

Money goes to money
While the rest get less and less
Money goes to money
What a fuckin’ mess

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Where Are You From?

Sir Richard, Knight of the Shire in 1339
Son Richard, Speaker of the House in Richard II’s time
Another Richard, Lord of Bures
Then William, then Edward, the name endures
Another Edward, a baronet
Without a peerage, as high as you get
Then Henry, married the King’s daughter
Then James Waldegrave, sailing back over the water
For a seat in the Lords, mates with the PM
His son James, George II’s best friend
His son William, an admiral, nice one
His son Granville only a vice one
As Britannia ruled the waves
Next was George, the 4th Earl Waldegrave
Who lived at Strawberry Hill
The house is in the family still
George and James were 5th and 6th
The 7th, George, the name still sticks
The 8th another William
With still more Waldegraves to come
He was known as Viscount Chewton
With his land to hunt and shoot on
Succeeded by Henry, who the records tell
Was succeeded by Geoffrey, who married a Grenfell
Whose daughter… yes it must be
It’s Susan, Baroness Hussey
Who knows just what it’s like to belong
And demands to know where you are from

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If You Do It to an Ant

I’m a vegan, he said, I hope you’re a vegan too
I don’t like to think of the animals as food
‘Cause if you do it to an ant, you can do it to a fly
Oh my! A fly! He said, just try
And if you do it to a fly, you can do it to a spider
I know this is getting a bit wriggled inside her
But if you do it to a spider, you can do it to a fish
‘Cause fish don’t have any feelings, I wish
And if you do it to a fish, you can do it to a chicken
The Colonel’s tortured millions, they’re finger lickin’
And if you do it to a chicken, you can do it to a cat
Fancy that? A finger lickin’ cat?
And if you do it to a pig, you can do it to a dog
Just another similarly sensitive hog
And if you do it to a cow, you can do it to a horse
A horse? Well, they eat them in France of course
And if you do it to a horse, you can do it to a man
Oh yes, you can, you understand?
That if you do it to a man, you can do it to the planet
Oh
You already did

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Some Things Bought by Qatar

Stadia built on blood and bones
A swathe of England’s poshest homes
Hotels too, The Savoy, The Ritz
The Stock Exchange, at least some bits
One Hyde Park, Canary Wharf
The Olympic Village, of course
Heathrow, Harrods and The Shard
Much of Mayfair’s posh backyard
The old American Embassy
The HQ of HSBC
More of London than you-know-who
David Beckham and FIFA too

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Silence

You only get a silence if you die gloriously
You only get a silence if you die victoriously
No silence if you died on the losing side
No silence if you’re just a PTSD suicide
No silence for civilians killed in Afghanistan
No silence for the victims of Little Boy or Fat Man
It’s written in the theme tune, who should be surprised
Happy and glorious, send him victorious
In service of the King, it’s the only way to die

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The 21st Century Money Trick

Every day of your life
Every penny you make
You’re gonna spend it
On the things that you need
The things that you want
You’re gonna beg, borrow, steal or lend it
But in the morning when Rishi gets out of bed
In his account there’s even more of your bread
Because the money always trickles up
When they say it trickles down

Now Rishi will tell ya
He’s a jolly fine fella
Who sorted your furlough out
But who did he pay
At the end of the day
Those with or those without
‘Cause he borrowed loads of money, gave it to me and you
And we went and spent it all on bills and food
And that’s how furlough trickled up
When they said it trickled down

It’s the 21st Century money trick
Same as the old one but twice as quick
Borrow loads of money at the public expense
And get ‘em to spend it with your wealthy friends

The stuff you need to buy
You inevitably buy
From a billionaire
Whose money makes money
Just on account
Of being loads and being there
So there’s a hole in your pocket where your wages go
While his pile of money continues to grow
And that’s how the money trickles up
When they say it trickles down

It’s the 21st Century money trick
Same as the old one but twice as quick
Borrow loads of money at the public expense
And get ‘em to spend it with your wealthy friends

Every day of your life
Every penny you earn
You’re gonna spend it
But in the billionaire’s garden
The money tree grows
Well defended
‘Cause your work makes money, but his money makes money
So when it rains on you, he’s still sunny
And that’s how the money trickles up
When they say it trickles down

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The Point

There’s a point to this and the point is this
He’s very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very
Very, very, very, very rich

It don’t matter that he’s Hindu, Buddhist, Anglican or Jew
Member of the Church of the Latter Day Dude
He could be an atheist, Taoist or a Jainist
An only-goes-at-Christmas, or a Catholic priest
What matters is he’s very, very, very, very, very, very
Very, very, very, very rich

It don’t matter he’s South Asian, though a nice change from Caucasian
He might as well be Bajan, Filipino or Malaysian
He might as well have landed in an alien space invasion
What matters is he’s very, very, very, very, very, very
Very, very, very, very rich

It don’t matter that his mum ran the local pharmacy
She could have made a living catching fishes in the sea
Or been a minor member of a foreign royalty
Or the woman at a non-league football club that makes the tea
What matters is he’s very, very, very, very, very, very
Very, very, very, very rich

It don’t matter how much money Boris Johnson’s got
Or the size of Liz Truss’s 44-day pension pot
He’s the Prime Minister and thankfully they’re not
And like them he’s very, very, very, very, very, very
Very, very, very, very rich

It matters that he’s very, very rich
Because he presides over policies which
Scratch the greediest of greediest itch
And at poverty doesn’t so much flinch or twitch
And that’s the pitch that for a decade or more
The biggest growth is the gap between the rich and the poor
Knock, knock, there’s a landlord at your door
As the own-you-own-homing middle class
Reliable elbows to the Tories’ arse
Are soon becoming a thing of the past….

There’s a point to this and the point is this
He’s very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very
Very, very, very, very rich

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102 Supporters (Yeah, Right)

Like Brent turning up at the office
With a guitar they don’t want to hear
All together now, let’s restart the disco
Has fallen on deaf Tory ears
He came back from holiday to die for their sins
But the MP’s would rather he stayed in the bin
Let’s restart the disco, all together now
Cincinnatus, best you fuck off back to your plough

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I Do Not Want a King at All

I do not want a king at all
A coronation big or small
A diddy one or six feet tall
I do not want a king at all

I do not want one in a crown
Or in an ermine-trimmed posh gown
Right way up or upside down
As a verb or as a noun
Called Charles or Harold, even Saul
I do not want a king at all

I do not want a king at all
With neat handwriting or a scrawl
I want to click on uninstall
I do not want a king at all

I do not want a king for me
For breakfast, dinner, lunch and tea
Owning all the eye can see
By some historical decree
I do not want a jubilee
Or forced smile RP repartee
“How long have you been a tree?”
On broken glass I’d rather crawl
I do not want a king at all

I do not want one with fat fingers
Or with a royal stench that lingers
From royal floaters or royal sinkers
I do not want a king that tinkers
In London or in Montreal
I do not want a king at all

I do not want one with big ears
I do not need “Oh dear, oh dears”
Or a face that now appears
On stamps and coins and souvenirs
Who hunts foxes and shoots deers
Assents to laws and interferes
Has his toothpaste squeezed by Paul
I do not want a king at all

I do not want a king at all
Don’t want his picture on the wall
Or naming a new hospital
One of forty, after all
He can’t be big unless we’re small
I do not want a king at all

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If Squid Squad Did Train Strikes

Emily Arr rearranges trains. Ross Conti relies
on reductions and Mandy Waistcoat’s
abandoned her calendar.

Great Aunt Angela torches timetables. Gray
Norman won’t run in the morning. Tim Slink
thinks updates can wait.

Southey Stern returns a recipe for necessity.
People with tickets take biscuits to pickets.
Liz Truss isn’t fussed.

(With apologies to Matthew Welton)

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