Rat Run Rishi’s put his foot to the floor
Rat Run Rishi loves the motorist more
Low traffic neighbourhoods, he doesn’t think we should
He’s bringing high traffic back to the neighbourhood
Where we’ve got shit in the water, grit in the air
We’ve got the top down, got the wind in our hair
The freedom of the highway, the myth that sells you cars
While the freedom of the skies is his, not ours
‘Cause Rishi’s commute is in a luxury chopper
Not in the morning rush like your average shopper
Meanwhile in the countryside, his kids breathe clean, fresh air
He’s on the side of motorists, Rishi doesn’t care
Tag: poetry
Farage vs Coutts, Round Two
He was a broker, not a banker
Now the bank thinks he’s a wanker
(An easy rhyme, from time to time
Is not a crime, if so inclined)
But don’t shower them with applause
When they also bank the Ingram-Moores
Who used the Captain Tom Foundation
To fund their own recreation
And tried to build a swimming pool
Not a hospital or school
‘Til subject to overwhelming
Social media ridicule
But to the case in hand
Bank-less racist Brexit man
Who’s crying, woe is me
The wokerati, I’m cancelled see
‘Cause there’s reputational damage
To be linked with folk like Farage*
*He hates it when you pronounce it like that
A Safe Pair Of Hands
A safe pair of hands for the money
A safe pair of hands for the debts
A safe pair of hands for capital
Says he’s safe too for the NHS
A safe place for former Tory MP’s
A safe place for a stab in the back
Not a safe place to support Palestine
Safe to say that you’ll just get the sack
A safe pair of hands for the money
The bankers have nothing to fear
Tell the rich that it’s safe to vote Labour
A safe pair of hands is Sir Kier
Running Out of Money
Nigel ain’t politically exposed
Nigel’s cash is just a little indisposed
Nigel went and got his account closed
Cause Nigel’s running out of money
Nigel ain’t a victim of persecution
He’s just having issues with his contribution
Nigel’s pile’s suffering from diminution
Seems Nigel’s running out of money
Nigel ain’t a martyr he’s just a bit skint
If you wanna bank at Coutts you’d better have a mint
Nigel, it seems didn’t wanna take the hint
That Nigel’s running out of money
Now wait for Nigel to pull a Yaxley-Lennon
They’re picking on me, is what he’s gonna tell ‘em
So please send cash and excuse the indiscretion
Cause Nigel’s running out of money
Donny
Donny got fired and Donny didn’t like it
Donny was so mad that he organised a riot
Donny stole secrets and kept them in the toilet
And Donny says he wants the job again
Donny got arrested and said he didn’t do it
Donny says politically they’re out to misconstrue it
Reading secrets in the khazi there’s no better place to do it
And Donny says he wants the job again
Yeah, But Sausages
Yeah, but sausages
Yeah, but bacon
A life without cheese, he said
Is very much mistaken
Yeah, but fowl
Yeah, but beast
I need to feast on the grease
Of the recently deceased
Yeah, but blood
Yeah, but bones
A meal ain’t for real
Without its grunts and its groans
Yeah, but murder
Yeah, but torture
Make it well done between the bun
Of your lunch order
Yeah, but sausages
Yeah, but bacon
The blind eye that’s in the pie
Of which you have partaken
The Sorting Hat
JK Rowling’s sorting hat
Says you’re a boy and that is that
Says some are dog and some are cat
Some are ball and some are bat
Some are tit and some are tat
Some are standing, some are sat
Some are swallowed, some are spat
Some are gloss and some are matt
Some are splash and some are splat
Some you win and some you lose
And it’s the hat that gets to choose
JK Rowling’s sorting hat
Says you’re a boy and that is that
Some are X and some are Y
Some are wet and some are dry
Some are low and some are high
Some are sell and some are buy
Some are sea and some are sky
Some are girl and some are guy
Some you win and some you lose
And it’s the hat that gets to choose
Ten points to Gryffindor, hooray
You’re a boy, now go away
You’re a boy and that is that
Says JK Rowling’s sorting hat
Digging Holes
They said when I was younger
Automation would be the thing
The robots would do the heavy lifting
While we could play and sing
But now I’m older and the world is greyer
I dunno who’s at the controls
‘Cause the robots are writing poetry
And I’m still digging holes
Pledge Your Allegiance
I’ll swear no oath to kings and queens
The primacy of royal genes
I’ll pledge allegiance to my class
The King can kiss my worker’s arse
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
Steve White & The Protest Family 