Tag: King Charles

The Family Business

It goes back a thousand years
Of stamps and coins and souvenirs
A multitude of peers
Holidays as careers
It goes back to the point of the sword
It goes back to the point of it all
Seizing what was common before

Is the family business
It’s the family business
It’s the family business
Off with their heads
It’s the family business

Andy take the fall
You’ll topple us all
Royals without peasants
Ain’t royals at all
Your heritage won’t be linear
But your lifestyle won’t be chillier
We know paedophilia

Is the family business
It’s the family business
It’s the family business
Off with their heads
It’s the family business

Owning everything
Being the king
Wearing crowns and all that bling
Listening to that song that they all sing
Stuffing themselves like pigs
Doing god forbids
To other people’s kids

Is the family business
It’s the family business
It’s the family business
Off with their heads
It’s the family business

They weren’t sorry when you didn’t know
They weren’t sorry when you didn’t know
They weren’t sorry when you didn’t know

‘Cause it’s the family business
It’s the family business
It’s the family business
Off with their heads
It’s the family business

by Categories: LyricsTags: , , , , , , , , , , Leave a comment

Not Being A Prince

No longer being a prince ain’t justice
The When-Willy-Is-King hints ain’t justice
Not being the Duke of York ain’t justice
All the media talk ain’t justice

(Not being the Earl of Inverness
Does anyone care less?)

Exile to Sandringham ain’t justice
Surnamed Mountbatten ain’t justice
Not Baron Killyleagh ain’t justice
How long the delay on justice?

They’re just protecting the brand
Letting you think he’s damned
But beyond the pale
Still ain’t in jail

by Categories: poetry, SteveTags: , , , , , , , , , , Leave a comment

A Letter From The King

Does it smell nice?
A letter from the king
Of scented ink, that kind of thing
Mellifluous craft and flowery word
Meticulously well-observed

Or does it smell of dusty palaces and old men
Tainted by the mouldering stench of then
Sparse script spiked with iron gall
As if the king should have to write at all

How tightly clenched, the royal jaw
How white-knuckled, the royal paw
Nib mashed to page, the words appear
One so looks forward to your second visit here

Behold, for sure, a regal thing
But what’s that smell?
A letter from the king

by Categories: poetry, SteveTags: , , , , , Leave a comment

Great TV

Has anyone got a hand cart?
We’re on our way to hell
Has anyone got a hand cart?
It’s really not going well

Has anyone got a hand cart?
For Mr Zelensksy
Has anyone got a hand cart?
He’s hailing a taxi

And it’s gonna make great, great TV
Great, great TV
Gambling with World War Three
Great TV

Has anyone got a hand cart?
For sofa shagger Vance
Has anyone got a hand cart?
He’s overdone the bantz

Has anyone got a hand cart?
For I’ve got a letter Kier
Has anyone got a hand cart?
Charlie won’t want him near

And it’s gonna make great, great TV
Great, great TV
Gambling with World War Three
Great TV

Has anyone got a hand cart?
We’re on our way to hell
Has anyone got a hand cart?
It’s really not going well

Has anyone got a hand cart?
We’re on our way to hell
Has anyone got a hand cart?
Yeah, Donald’s got loads to sell

And it’s gonna make great, great TV
It’s gonna make great, great TV
Gambling with World War Three
Great TV

Has anyone got a hand cart?
We’re on our way to hell
Has anyone got a hand cart?
It’s really not going well

Has anyone got a hand cart?
We’re on our way to hell
Has anyone got a hand cart?
Yeah, Donald’s got loads to sell

by Categories: Lyrics, SteveTags: , , , , , , , , , , , , Leave a comment

The Poppy and the Cross

With fewer his majesties
There’d be fewer dead
Yet he leads the remembrance
The old soldier said
The symbols that you see
Are there to show you who’s the boss
They know that you’ll comply
With the poppy and the cross

The poppy and the cross
King and country and the rest
It’s amazing what you’ll suffer
To be told that you’re the best
His Majesty don’t care
For your sorrow and your loss
So long as you’ll die for
The poppy and the cross

That fella with the wreath, he said
Signs the papers off
To manufacture weapons
For the poppy and the cross
To ship them overseas
For genocide in foreign lands
His jacket wears a poppy
But bloody are his hands

Bloody are his hands
King and country and the rest
It’s amazing what you’ll suffer
To be told that you’re the best
His Majesty don’t care
For your sorrow and your loss
So long as you’ll die for
The poppy and the cross

He holds a shepherd’s crook
And he wears a bishop’s hat
The old soldier said to me
What do you make of that
Here to give the slaughter
Some of his pious gloss
Here to lead the prayers
For the poppy and the cross

The poppy and the cross
God and country and the rest
It’s amazing what you’ll suffer
To be told that you’re the best
His Majesty don’t care
For your sorrow and your loss
So long as you’ll die for
The poppy and the cross

Don’t confuse sacrifice
With being sacrificed
The old soldier spoke
Of the wicked loss of life
King and country, God and crown
Will never count the cost
It’s you and I that die
For the poppy and the cross

The poppy and the cross
King and country and the rest
It’s amazing what you’ll suffer
To be told that you’re the best
His Majesty don’t care
For your sorrow and your loss
So long as you’ll die for
The poppy and the cross

by Categories: Lyrics, SteveTags: , , , , , , , 1 Comment

Where is the Joy?

Cold pensioners applauding
A pay rise for His Majesty
Smoke outdoor cigarettes
Where their local used to be

They share their coughs with cows
Busy trampling the corpses
Of a million culled badgers
Who never were their causes

The Britpop feelgood factor’s
Now a website bound to crash
Get your tits out rock ‘n’ roll
Is waiting for your cash

Where is the joy, they ask
Of booting out the Tories
It’s just a different face
On the same old hard luck stories

by Categories: poetry, SteveTags: , , , , , , , , Leave a comment

The King’s Piss

Charlie’s struggling to piss
How did it come to this?
I should be pissing like a king
A king’s piss should be an impressive thing
A porcelain smashing
Splattering, crashing stream
In a magnificent cloud of steam
On these cold mornings
In draughty palaces

Charlie’s struggling to piss
It’s royally hit and miss
I’ve got medals, sashes and brocade
But I’ve got a trickle
When a king should cascade
And course and sluice and spurt
Not dribble in the dust and dirt
Of these cold mornings
In draughty palaces

Charlie’s struggling to piss
My majestic plumbing’s amiss
When the King gets the urge to go
Mine should be a mighty flow
A rush, a gush, a torrent, a flood
A fountain, a jet, a surge
Not the dribbles that emerge
On these cold mornings
In draughty palaces

Charlie’s struggling to piss
Summon the Royal Surgeon
The King says that it’s urgent

by Categories: poetry, SteveTags: , , , Leave a comment

Picking the Pockets of the Dead

We bow to the crown upon his head
While he picks the pockets of the dead

From Morecambe Bay to Pentire Head
If there’s no kin or will to be read
He’ll pick your pocket when you’re dead

Bona vacantia the paper said
It should’ve gone to charity instead
But we bow to the crown upon his head
And he picks the pockets of the dead

by Categories: poetry, SteveTags: , , , , , , Leave a comment

Most People

The council haven’t put up any bunting
The local Tories are running amuck
The coronation! We must be doing something
But most people really couldn’t give a fuck

You can apply to close your street for a party
Undisturbed by car, van, or truck
To celebrate the crowning of King Charlie
But most people really couldn’t give a fuck

There’s a union jack outside the butchers
Where he sells patriots their beef, lamb and duck
But he might as well be flogging fishless fingers
Because most people really couldn’t give a fuck

An extra day off work? Well, who wouldn’t?
Courtesy of newly crowned King Chuck
But don’t take it as some kind of endorsement
Because most people really couldn’t give a fuck

Drizzling the King with special magic oil
From an eagle-shaped bottle, just for luck
An archbishop and a golden spoon
Honestly, we couldn’t give a fuck

by Categories: poetry, SteveTags: , , , , Leave a comment

Crowdfund the Coronation

Crowdfund the coronation
Don’t pay for it from our taxation
If you support the celebration
Then you can make a small donation

Crowdfund the coronation
But make it so that each donation
Ticks a box to just make sure
You’d rather not give to the poor

Crowdfund the coronation
Don’t pay for it from our taxation
Of which we’re told there’s such a dearth
We can’t pay nurses what they’re worth

Crowdfund the coronation
And if folk need some motivation
A celebrity-packed one day’s TV
Can raise some cash for kings in need

Crowdfund the coronation
Crowdfund the whole damn operation
The nation then with one accord
Will have the royals they can afford

by Categories: poetry, SteveTags: , , , , , Leave a comment