We’ve been in this pandemic a year or more Cough away boys, cough away A global pandemic from shore to shore Cough away boys, cough away
Cough away, cough away Cough away boys, cough away Cough away, cough away This was all she had to say
Governments respond very differently Cough away boys, cough away Based on the fact society Cough away boys, cough away
We’ve seen just deaths around the world Cough away boys, cough away Harrowing death tolls around the world Cough away boys, cough away
We let the scientists and medics guide us Cough away boys, cough away So there’s no single reason for you to chide us Cough away boys, cough away
The numbers are deeply tragic Cough away boys, cough away But it’s still a global pandemic Cough away boys, cough away
You know in the future we’ll all look back Cough away boys, cough away At the could haves the should haves we can’t take back Cough away boys, cough away
If you think this is a speech with nothing to say Cough away boys, cough away It was Priti Patel just the other day Cough away boys, cough away
What she actually said. (Courtesy of Michael Spicer).
Born in Hammersmith Went to school at Eton Then Trinity College Oxford Presided over the Tory Association Went into the City Started a hedge fund Amassed what they call A significant fortune Estimated worth 150 million Married into money Helen The Chair A mate of his sister’s Who was always there
Jacob’s fish are happy fish Jacob’s fish are happy fish Jacob’s fish are happy fish Jacob’s fish are happy fish
Moved into politics In ‘97 Didn’t get elected then Or even at the next ‘un In Scotland they though he was Too posh Canvassing with nanny Got a resounding 9% Fuck off, toff Complained to Piggy Cameron That his quotas weren’t right Said parliament oughta be 95% white Nicked a speech off Trevor Kavanagh Faked an interview and then Got a seat in North East Somerset In 2010
Jacob’s fish are happy fish Jacob’s fish are happy fish Jacob’s fish are happy fish Jacob’s fish are happy fish
In parliament he became King of the filibuster Thought he was funny With his history and verse Holding the record in the Commons For the longest word spoken But spoke other words That were even worse Addressing members of the far-right Traditional Britain society Who would have some of us Made deportees And said quarter of a million quid Spent on MPs portraits Was just chicken feed
Jacob’s fish are happy fish Jacob’s fish are happy fish Jacob’s fish are happy fish Jacob’s fish are happy fish
He got a hand up into government From a fellow Old Etonian Leader of the House of Commons, no less Then was kept away from the mics and the cameras After he said the Grenfell victims Lacked common sense Now , chief Eurosceptic Out of all the Eurosceptics Said Trump will be our best ally After Brexit He likes Brits to be Brits And the poor to be poor And says gay marriage Still breaks the church’s law
Jacob’s fish are happy fish Jacob’s fish are happy fish Jacob’s fish are happy fish Jacob’s fish are happy fish
He broke the lockdown rules ‘Cos he prefers a Latin mass His relationship with god Is more important, more pious Than your relationship With coronavirus He wasn’t born to follow He was born to lead And his vicious defence of the status quo Is just born of greed
Jacob’s fish are happy fish Jacob’s fish are happy fish Jacob’s fish are happy fish Jacob’s fish are happy fish But Jacob can just fuck off
After the success of Santa is English, we’ve decided for as long as we’re locked down we’ll produce and put out a new video every few weeks, recorded and shot in isolation but brought together by our nascent mixing and video editing skills and the power of the internet.
The first one lands this week, using up previously unreleased footage from the last time that we were allowed to meet up outdoors, after that, we really are flying solo (together).
Over eighty thousand people died Or under four hundred according to Paul Who doesn’t count the over-60’s at all Or anyone with a pre-existing condition Like asthma, diabetes or hypertension Or maybe just walking with a limp.
(You can check out the numbers for yourself here).
My postie’s being bullied by Iain Duncan Smith With his smug face and folded arms On posters showing all his charmless DWP-ness And shaming sick statistics, A careless Tory trick which Doesn’t mention COVID at all. A deliberate omission From a man in his position. “43% are absent from work” he cries To his allies About workers they despise Though, in truth, deserving of a pay rise For tireless work on the pandemic front line Getting your mail to you on time, Because when it’s not just a touch of the ‘flu Post every other day will do. So, I am righteously miffed That my postie’s being bullied by Iain Duncan Smith
The right bullets fired from the wrong gun Will miss their target one by one There’s only one sharp shot in a Johnson Now we’ve got the right bullets In the wrong gun
When the truth as you tell it changes From sunrise to sunset When definitely safe means definitely not safe This is the recoil that you’ll get And you’re not as persuasive As your Latin teacher told ya And you’re relying on a fair wind To get you that far When no one believes you know The what or the how Not even JVT Can help you now
The right bullets fired from the wrong gun Missing their targets one by one There’s only one sharp shot in a Johnson It’s the right bullets In the wrong gun
Don’t say We are where we are We are where we are, we are where we are Where are we? We are where we are We are where we are, we are where we are Don’t say where are we?
When the truth as you tell it changes From speech to speech and ear to ear When definitely safe means definitely not safe This is the recoil that you fear And you’re not as persuasive As your Latin teacher told ya And you’re relying on a fair wind To get you that far When no one believes you know The what or the how Not even JVT Can help you now
The right bullets fired from the wrong gun Missing their targets one by one There’s only one sharp shot in a Johnson It’s the right bullets Fired by the wrong gun
In the meantime, may I wish you in advance every happiness for the New Year. If it’s anything like the old one, I, for my part, would sooner consign it to the devil.
Karl Marx, writing to Friedrich Engels, 27th December 1861
Gimme the vaccine, Maxine.
John Cooper Clarke, Walking Back to Happiness 1979
My late father would say keeping body and soul together. I never really gave the phrase much thought at the time but it’s a fair summary of the challenge that’s faced us all this year: the struggle for sustenance for our bodies: food, housing, medicine, employment; with none of that nutrition for the soul: live music, football, pub, socialising. At the end of the day a Zoom1 call is only so rewarding, particularly if that’s what your day-to-day work has become, and it can be a poor, though necessary, replacement for real human interaction.
Being in a band is all about that interaction, sharing the creative process, the synergy of playing in time and in tune with one another (like flapping your arms and finding out that you can actually fly) and the shared experience of band and audience that makes a great gig, well, great.
We’ve spoken elsewhere about what we’ve done to compensate for not being able to gig: the make-it-look-live videos, the live streams where we could and, of course, my sprawling COVID-19 drama set out in nearly 150 songs and poems, and while there’s no substitute for the real thing, online shows are here to stay and we can reach people that way who would otherwise never get to see us live.
But it’s New Year’s Eve, so let’s look forward. It’s big pharma2 (of all people) to the rescue and with a fair wind and a following sea the return of real football, real pubs, real music, and real people is coming, but with lessons learned, continuing to reach out to those who can’t get out, and not leaving newly created mutual aid structures3 behind.
Onwards into 2021, friends. Look after yourselves, look after each other and, in the wise words of his holiness, John Cooper Clarke:
Gimme the vaccine, Maxine.
Happy New Year!
Steve
Other online meeting software is available.
More on that another time.
The extraordinary efforts of We Shall Overcome with Pauline, Joe, Matt and Pete at the helm have continued throughout the pandemic. We’re not going anywhere until we’re no longer needed.
It’s that awkward bit between Christmas and New Year when you’d struggle to find things to fill newspapers with anyway, never mind the pandemic, so one of the leading lights of the Tory press, riffing on the idea of Spaffer’s miracles following his rising from the near dead at Easter, publishes a story about his latest offspring’s wonderous artistic ability. Well, it is Christmas, and a story so preposterous that they couldn’t get a journalist to put their name to it.
It’s the Xmas perineum between the 25th and the 31st You’ve eaten, drunk and been merry ‘til your fit to burst There’s no football, no music, no pubs in Tier 4 Not much to do if you step out of your door
Is there anything to look forward to that ain’t austere?
Well, the golden-haired boy, just eight months old The golden-haired boy, just eight months old The golden-haired boy, just eight months old Crafted a hand-painted image Of a reindeer Of a reindeer
There’s Driver Tizer lining the hedgerows of the Garden of England British Variant COVID making its presence felt, and Miles and miles of queues to get into Dover Thousands of truckers wishing Christmas was over
Is there any news to help Tories be of good cheer?
Well, there’s a golden-haired boy, just eight months old There’s a golden-haired boy, just eight months old There’s a golden-haired boy, just eight months old Who crafted a hand-painted image Of a reindeer Of a reindeer
‘Cos Spaffer might’ve nearly died for your sins But it’s his miracle child that’s now the thing With The Telegraph fawning over his painting He’s clearly the one born to be king
This golden-haired boy, just eight months old This golden-haired boy, just eight months old (What number is he again?) This golden-haired boy, just eight months old Crafted a hand-painted miracle image Hand-painted, miracle image Of a reindeer Of a reindeer
Behave as if you have the virus, they said. So, I went back to bed. They said, Work from home if you can work from home. So, I got my work on the phone And said, I’ve got the virus Because they said Behave as if you have the virus And if I had the virus I’d be certain to tell my work on the phone Who then sent everyone else home, Because they clearly hadn’t been Behaving as if they had the virus Well enough.
Steve White & The Protest Family 