Being English

The sign on the door says a nice woman
And a grumpy old man live here
Around the back a ten foot fence surrounds a garden
In which you sense that they may soon appear
By a shiny new flagpole and an even newer flag
Still flying the creases from the bag

This is our kingdom
This is our green and pleasant land
This is our place in the world
But we don’t understand
How all the money that we spend on being English
Doesn’t make being English very grand

It’s not racist, says the grumpy old man
But the basis for his racism is fear
When everything is getting worse and it’s hard to understand
Just blame them lot coming over here
With a shiny new flagpole and an even newer flag
Still flying the creases from the bag

This is our kingdom
Says the grumpy old man
This is our place in the world
But we don’t understand
How all the money that we spend on being English
Doesn’t make being English very grand

The people round here, says the nice woman
Used to be quite happy with their lot
There were factories and shops and their kids got better jobs
They worked hard for everything they got
Now they’ve got a shiny flagpole and an even newer flag
Still flying the creases from the bag

This is our kingdom
This is our green and pleasant land
This is our place in the world
And we’d share it if we can
But all the money that we spend on being English
Doesn’t make being English very grand

At Toad Hall a frog-faced fascist lights a cigarette
Pours a glass of Chablis with a grin
As he sleeps, his assets grow and grow
He owns the houses that other folk live in
He sells them shiny flagpoles and even newer flags
Still flying the creases from their bags

This is his kingdom
This is his green and pleasant land
This is his place in the world
And he fully understands
How all the money that they spend on being English
Makes his England really rather grand

This is our kingdom
This is our green and pleasant land
This is our world to share
And we need to understand
That the money that we spend on being English
Can make a world for all of us that’s grand

Monsters

People are on the menu
People live in fear
The knives and forks are out
The monsters are here

People are on the menu
Snatch squads are at large
The knives and forks are out
When the monsters are in charge

They’re eating people
They’re eating people
They’re eating people
And making the people wanna eat people too

They’re eating people
They’re eating people
They’re eating people
And making the people wanna eat people too

Self-crowned and self- appointed
They’ll tell you they’re your choice
While all channels broadcast
His monster’s voice

Fear of the monster
Fear of the fork
Fear breeds acquiescence
And all that up the monster talk

They’re eating people
They’re eating people
They’re eating people
And making the people wanna eat people too

They’re eating people
They’re eating people
They’re eating people
And making the people wanna eat people too

Behold our loyalty they cry
Hoist up the monster flag
Eat the brown ones first they plead
Their patriotic brag

There’s monster work to fulfil
You better understand
The monster’s here by God’s will
And sat at his right hand

They’re eating people
They’re eating people
They’re eating people
And making the people wanna eat people too

They’re eating people
They’re eating people
They’re eating people
And making the people wanna eat people too

They’re gonna take the monsters’ share
And the monsters’ share keeps growing
And tell the people that it’s fair
It’s other people that are owing
They’re gonna take the monsters’ share
And the monsters’ share keeps growing
That’s why they’re eating people
‘Cos it’s people that are owing

They’re eating people
They’re eating people
They’re eating people
And making the people wanna eat people too

They’re eating people
They’re eating people
They’re eating people
And making the people wanna eat people too-oo-oo
Too-oo-oo
Too-oo-oo

Flags, Rallies, Parties, People, and Stories

“Kier Starmer is a wanker,” the far-right rally chants.

“Kier Starmer is a wanker,” the counter-protesters reply. And there’s moment of unity in which this all makes a bit of sense.

I was on flag watch last week, cycling around Essex and driving to football matches, and the good news is that festooned lampposts and spraypainted mini roundabouts remain relatively rare in this part of the world, mainly centred around the flashpoints that you’d expect.

In the main, I believe, the flags, the lampposts, the roundabouts, and so on are the work of the far-right, of activists who are genuinely racist, Islamophobic and the rest, but not the work of the likes of the majority of people who attended Tommy Robinson’s demonstration in London just over a week ago, keen to declare that they’re not far-right, that they’re not all of the above, despite being at an event organised by people who are overtly just that.

What they are is scared. They’re scared, they’re angry, and they’re lashing out. Their living standards have fallen, taking their children’s prospects with them, and their future is predicted to contain nothing more than the same, while war appears closer than at any time in a generation, and nobody is listening to them. So they’re taking refuge in identity – English, white, working class – and taking umbrage with a government, with a political system, that they see as valuing everything that isn’t those things. They’re not racist towards their neighbours but they think that immigration is the biggest problem facing the country right now, they love their gay friends but they think that equality has gone too far, and even if their Englishness isn’t wrapped up in greatness and empire, it at least equates being English as being good, as being better than this.

And while confronting fascists remains a must, just telling people that they’re wrong about their identity, that they’re wrong about the impact of immigration on their lives, that they’re wrong about equality, doesn’t get us very far. Because feelings trump facts, because “the people of this country have had enough of experts”, because the lies don’t matter if they support how you feel about things.

Can music change the world? Billy Bragg gives a qualified no. Woody Guthrie and Joe Hill may well have said yes, and I might too. The best songs, the best songwriters, tell stories. Stories that show rather than tell, and if we want to ask people to reconsider their identity, their position, if we want to change how they feel, then we need to show them, not just tell them.

And so should politics.

Imagine a nationally co-ordinated, grassroots socialist party, let’s call them Your Party, who use some of their membership subscriptions to directly improve the lives of people in communities suffering at the hands of successive governments’ policies, maybe by reopening a library or a community centre or supporting a homelessness scheme that got people off the streets and into permanent accommodation. Starting small but doing something every month. Imagine them being able to say, look what we can do with the limited funds available to us now, imagine what we could do with the resources of government. Imagine them showing, not just telling.

Oh well.

There’s been a lot of telling this last week. A negotiation by mass email and tweet. (Can we please stop using X?). But it’s not their party, it’s ours; that’s the point. It’s up to us to decide if it’s over before it started or not.

And we have better stories to share.

The Flag

The news is vile, the comments worse
This septic isle is in reverse
They say there’s debt to reimburse
While rich folk rob the public purse

Their greed exceeds your hour of need
While leaders short in word and deed
Let the reins of power concede
To a frog-faced smoking man in tweed

And the trick they play they say the flag is yours
Flown at one world cup and two world wars
A tawdry cross daubed across any old white rag
I’ll never swear allegiance to the flag

They’ll have you pledge a sacred vow
They’ll take salutes, you scrape and bow
Forbid what they do not allow
So long as you do not ask how

They got there and you got here
With cigarettes and pints of beer
From school to stock market career
You know it’s clear, you know it’s fear

And the trick they play they say the flag is yours
Flown at one world cup and two world wars
A tawdry cross daubed across any old white rag
I’ll never swear allegiance to the flag

It ain’t our flag, it’s handed down
By billionaire, state and crown
It ain’t our flag for taking back
Our colours include brown and black
It ain’t our flag loaded with fear
It ain’t our flag, it won’t fly here

And the trick they play they say the flag is yours
Flown at one world cup and two world wars
A tawdry cross daubed across any old white rag
I’ll never swear allegiance to the flag

And the trick they play they say the flag is yours
Flown at one world cup and two world wars
A tawdry cross daubed across any old white rag
I’ll never swear allegiance to the flag

Mass Deportation Masturbation

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

Bring Back The Dancing Coppers

Bring back the dancing coppers
Bring back community
Bring back using lampposts
Just the light the street
Bring back the dancing coppers
Bring back giving a fuck about each other
Bring back understanding
Whose wealth is expanding

Bring back the dancing coppers
Bring back community
Bring back using lampposts
Just the light the street

Paul lives in a country
With no parliament or king
His flag has no status
Except with racists and their kin
Paul lives in a country
Where even the roundabouts are white
His crusade’s embarrassing
And not a pretty sight

Bring back the dancing coppers
Bring back community
Bring back using lampposts
Just the light the street

You can join Reform UK
But don’t get excited
The party’s for the very rich
And you ain’t invited
Reform FC is not a team
You want to bet your life on
Nigel’s not the football type
His word can’t be relied on

Bring back the dancing coppers
Bring back community
Bring back using lampposts
Just the light the street

Bring back the experts
Bring back the truth
Facts don’t have another side
For anyone to choose
Bring back the right questions
Bin the clickbait and the quotes
None of your problems
Arrived here on small boats

Bring back the dancing coppers
Bring back community
Bring back using lampposts
Just the light the street

If you fly the flag to intimidate
If you sneak it up at night
If you fly it to say you’re not welcome here
If you fly it out of spite
Then you don’t fly the flag for me
You don’t fly the flag for this country
You fly it for the fascists
And we will tear it down

Bring back the dancing coppers
Bring back community
Bring back using lampposts
Just the light the street

If you fly the flag to intimidate
If you sneak it up at night
If you fly it to say you’re not welcome here
If you fly it out of spite
Then you don’t fly the flag for me
You don’t fly the flag for this country
You fly it for the fascists
And we will tear it down

Operation Raise The Colours

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

Breaking Britain

They’re hanging flags on the lampposts of Breaking Britain
They’re painting the roundabouts red
The concerned mums of Epping are lighting fires
While Bobby’s on the beach winding up their suppliers
They’re kicking the refugees out of The Bell
Next thing they’ll wanna kick you out as well
They’re breaking Britain
They’re breaking Britain

A oner gets you Farage on a football shirt
But the flag is flying upside down
Nicky did a Trump dance and a fascist salute
He’s off to Liverpool in a too small suit
Anti-immigrant poison is what they sell
Next thing they’ll wanna poison you as well
They’re breaking Britain
They’re breaking Britain

They’re breaking Britain with division
They’re breaking Britain with derision
They’re breaking Britain with hate for a scapegoat mate
And making a pretty penny while they’re at it too
They’re breaking Britain
They’re breaking Britain

While Both Sides Sheila argues both sides
Not all nazis are nazis she opines
Not sure I’d want asylum seekers down my street
She’s down with the othering of not like me
And the high street is some lawless kind of hell
Next thing the law will come for you as well
They’re breaking Britain
They’re breaking Britain

Kier looking on without a clue, he’s breaking Britain
Rachel in the wings without a penny for you, she’s breaking Britain
Kemi trying to be the baddest of the bad, she’s breaking Britain
Nigel the worst MP Clacton ever had, he’s breaking Britain
He’s breaking Britain

They’re breaking Britain with division
They’re breaking Britain with derision
They’re breaking Britain with hate for a scapegoat mate
And making a pretty penny while they’re at it too
They’re breaking Britain
They’re breaking Britain
They’re breaking Britain
They’re breaking Britain

Respect

Let’s drape a flag over every rough sleeper
Wave one at every asylum seeker
Fly one proudly on every food bank
Use Union Jack tissues to blow your nose
Let’s place our hands over our hearts
Whenever the national anthem starts
And belt out the first half dozen words
Replacing the rest with der-der-ders

And show respect
You’ve gotta show respect
You’ve gotta show respect
If you don’t show respect what could happen next?

Let’s demonstrate our loyalties
By being mean to refugees
Daub the job centre red, white and blue
Hand plastic flags to the soup kitchen queue
Let’s place our hands over our hearts
Whenever the national anthem starts
And belt out the first half dozen words
Replacing the rest with der-der-ders

And show respect
You’ve gotta show respect
You’ve gotta show respect
If you don’t show respect what could happen next?

Cos if you don’t show respect
You might start thinking about what’s actually going on around you
One in 445 dead
A roadmap, where will it end?
From feudalism to cronyism via capitalism

And der-der-der the national anthem

And show respect
You’ve gotta show respect
You’ve gotta show respect
If you don’t show respect what could happen next?