Henry and the Tractors

Henry parked his tractor in Whitehall
Turned to the camera to explain
My lifestyle is under threat, he said
It’s causing my accountant great pain

The only way to farm this land, he said
Is if your father was a farmer too
And if your granddad owned it before him
Then farming’s what you’re born to do

Like being a millionaire, I thought
The bit that was going unsaid
Why’s the right to own and work the land
Restricted to the born and bred?

Henry and the tractors were holding up traffic
Like Just Stop Oil in tweed caps
Barbour coats and green wellies
A Reform UK uniform, perhaps

Like mustard-trousered Farage
Defending the interests of his class
Henry parked his tractor in Whitehall
What a fucking arse

Untitled (13 September 2022)

The Queen is dead, long live the King
With barely pause for breath
Or chance for anyone to ask
If this is for the best
The new PM, not camera-shy
Jumps aboard the royal ride
She wants those headline stories
King Charles the Third, King of the Tories
And old in years but new in post
Big Ears agreed to be her host
As they set out to tour the land
Of crowds policed with heavy hand
Where protest is all but banned
(Such a heinous caper
To hold aloft a piece of paper
Or call out your response
To the presence of a sweaty nonce)
Meanwhile, back in Parliament
The doors stay firmly closed
So no one hears the argument
Against a king imposed
Or his parade’s flamboyance
In a time of crisis
Or his tax avoidance
And the powers that allow this
(Three hundred million quid
God forbid
Remain in royal coffers
Received with little thanks, cap doffers)
No effective government
Since Spaffer’s slow departure
The new Tory incumbent
Threatens even harder
And mourning not withstanding
Has plans to keep rich standing
While the poor just quietly fall
It’s what she would’ve wanted, after all

A King’s Inheritance

He inherits the title
Inherits the land
Inherits police
Who with firm hand
Remove any protest
At his quick accession
There’ll be no dissent
At this royal procession

He inherits the title
Inherits the power
The proceeds of empire
His to devour
He inherits the poor
The homeless, the weak
Whose faith in the monarch
Is honest but bleak

He inherits the title
Inherits the wealth
To him it’s tax-free
As they sing to his health
Happy and glorious
God save the King
He doesn’t owe you
A damn fucking thing