Tag: poetry

Oh Tommy. F**k Off! – Live at Steve’s House

In Eleanor’s vineyard, Tommy’s on his knees, pretending to pray
He holds his bible upside down and wonders what Charlie would say
His god washed Islamophobic endeavour gains new followers every day
But he’s a coked up criminal grifter who’s going away

And they sing ‘Oh, Tommy, Tommy’ and we sing ‘Fuck off’
They sing ‘Oh, Tommy, Tommy’ and we sing ‘Fuck off’
They sing ‘Oh, Tommy, Tommy’ and we sing ‘Fuck off’
Sometimes you just got to get it off your chest
They sing ‘Oh, Tommy, Tommy’ and we sing ‘Fuck off’
They sing ‘Oh, Tommy, Tommy’ and we sing ‘Fuck off’
They sing ‘Oh, Tommy, Tommy’ and we sing ‘Fuck off’
Sometimes you just got to get it off your chest

You can’t write everybody off, some folk are just taken in
The difference between influenced and influencers is written on the tin
But when the fascists are at the door be sure to not let them in
And he’s a coked up criminal grifter who should be in the bin

And they sing ‘Oh, Tommy, Tommy’ and we sing ‘Fuck off’
They sing ‘Oh, Tommy, Tommy’ and we sing ‘Fuck off’
They sing ‘Oh, Tommy, Tommy’ and we sing ‘Fuck off’
Sometimes you just got to get it off your chest
They sing ‘Oh, Tommy, Tommy’ and we sing ‘Fuck off’
They sing ‘Oh, Tommy, Tommy’ and we sing ‘Fuck off’
They sing ‘Oh, Tommy, Tommy’ and we sing ‘Fuck off’
Sometimes you just got to get it off your chest

Now Jesus of Nazareth was many things
But nationalism won’t win you your angel wings
Your patriotic cross is just so much toss
So you can Oh Tommy Tommy off

When they sing ‘Oh, Tommy, Tommy’ and we sing ‘Fuck off’
They sing ‘Oh, Tommy, Tommy’ and we sing ‘Fuck off’
They sing ‘Oh, Tommy, Tommy’ and we sing ‘Fuck off’
Sometimes you just got to get it off your chest
They sing ‘Oh, Tommy, Tommy’ and we sing ‘Fuck off’
They sing ‘Oh, Tommy, Tommy’ and we sing ‘Fuck off’
They sing ‘Oh, Tommy, Tommy’ and we sing ‘Fuck off’
Sometimes you just got to get it off your chest

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Put The Christ Back Into Christmas

Put the Christ back into Christmas
The Islam back into Islamophobia
The bigot back into bigotry
The my back into myopia

Put the St. George back into the cross
Put the hat back into Santa
Put the race back into racism
Put the coke back into Fanta

Put the him back into hymns
Put the nation back into nationalism
Put the Christ back into Christmas
Put the Robinson back into prison

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The First Of The Fallen

He died for his country
The first of the fallen
From Operation Raise The Colours

The tributes came pouring in
From football hooligans
And casual sisters and brothers

Banned for life from Bristol City
Now he’s banned in Bristol City from life
He leaves behind Michele, his wife
He leaves his ladders to the flag committee

His life was colourful, it’s said
Like the roundabouts he painted red
And the thoughts rushing through his head
With the pavement straight ahead

He died for his country
The first of the fallen
From Operation Raise The Colours

My advice: don’t hang the flags at all
But if you do, get some footed help from others

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“This is music made by people who believe art can matter, that songs can change minds, that punk was always about more than three chords and a mohawk.” Evidence-Based Punk Rock Reviewed by Indie Dock Music Blog

There’s a particular breed of British protest music that refuses to die quietly, despite every attempt by algorithms and streaming platforms to suffocate it with playlists and bite-sized consumption. Steve White & The Protest Family’s Evidence-Based Punk Rock belongs to this stubborn lineage, standing defiantly at the crossroads where Billy Bragg’s righteous fury meets the Manic Street Preachers’ conceptual ambition.

What ultimately elevates Evidence-Based Punk Rock above mere agitprop is its refusal to wallow in despair. The press release’s declaration that “things might be grim, but better world is possible” isn’t just marketing copy—it’s the album’s beating heart. In an era where cynicism masquerades as sophistication, there’s something genuinely punk about maintaining hope while clear-eyed about the obstacles.

Read the full review here.

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Nasty Norris From The Home Office

Nasty Norris from the Home Office
Metal detector in hand
Takes jewellery from refugees
At the border to this green and pleasant land

With their human rights in his sights
He claims they cost a billion pounds
His twenty year plan to send them back
Just as grim as it sounds

Dark forces stirring up anger
Prompt his boss’s idea
But with Nasty Norris at The Home Office
The dark forces are here

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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

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The New Austerity Inn: Rachel’s Licence

Happy hour seems like a long time ago

Now it turns out that Rachel didn’t have a licence to run the New Austerity Inn

Don’t worry said the Big Boss from the Brewery
We all make mistakes

And while the beer is stale
and the punters are depressed
they all come in for a warm-up
this time of year

What they gonna do?
Go to the ‘Spoons?

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Andrew

Andrew, so-called prince
Publicly funded paedophile of this parish
Earl of Inverness
Erstwhile passenger aboard the Lolita Express
Refuses to confess
Shelled out twelve million nonetheless
Of public money, at a guess
Is still the Duke of York, unless
Parliament decides otherwise
Which would come as some surprise
Given its current tenants
So, he maintains the dukedom in his clutch
Just offers to not be known as such
Somehow by way of penance

Andrew, so-called prince
Publicly funded paedophile of this parish
His sweatless bluff now failed
His lies to Emily unveiled
Thought eighth in line would just prevail
But to no avail
Prepares for life beyond the pale
Should be in jail

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Memories of The War

Eighty years ago
My grandad lived in Walthamstow
He saw the queue for fish and chips
Get blown to bits
By a bomb in World War Two
Hated fascists, like you do
Moved to Clacton in ‘82

Derek lives in his house now
Flies the flag, English and proud
Remembers the war like yesterday
‘Though he weren’t born ‘til ‘53
He left Walthamstow in ‘92
And now he votes for fascists
Like you do

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