Spin To Win with Phil and Holly
Losers freeze, how very jolly
Spin To Win with Holly and Phil
They may pick up your energy bill
Spin To Win with Phil and Holly
This Morning Hunger Games, by golly
Spin To Win with hopes and prayers
Amuse the TV millionaires
He’s thanking the dog and the cat
It’s leaving speech part two or three
The cat ain’t even his
The cat’s still got a key
He’s thanking the dog and the cat
Like the cat could give a fuck
He’s making a list of achievements
He’s making most of it up
He’s thanking the dog and the cat
The cat’s just shrugged it off
It’s his last day in Downing Street
Bye bye, farewell, fuck off
Do they want the pub boarded up?
Do they want the chip shop shut?
Who’ll bake the bread when the baker’s bust?
In the high street they let turn to dust
You’re gonna have to go to Tesco
Get a couple of cans to go
They want you to go to Tesco
Tesco’s where they want you to go
When you’re keeping warm in the library
Or the café with a two-hour cup of coffee
‘Til you need to leave this table, sorry
That’s not where they want you to be
They want you to go to Tesco
Tesco’ll have their gas bill dough
They want you to go to Tesco
Tesco’s where they want you to go
A nation of shopkeepers shutting up shop
When the gas price rises just won’t stop
And the Government’s asleep at the wheel
Tell me, how does it feel
When all that’s left is to go to Tesco
Like it used to be but somehow less so
They want you to go to Tesco
Tesco’s where they want you to go
I got a lift to the food bank from Iain Duncan Smith
Driving a vintage British sports car
A Morgan Plus Four powered by a German engine
Goes from nought to Brexit in under sixty seconds
“I say” he said to me “Fine day for a spin”
“Isn’t the food bank just a wonderful thing”
“And now there’s even more of them than ever”
He had the radio tuned to LBC
A phone-in about prices
And the cost-of-living crisis
He said “We’ll have to suck it up, I’m afraid”
“It’s not our fault there’s a war in Ukraine”
“And I’m sure you’ll agree that it’s a price worth paying.”
As we passed the war memorial
And poppies on the road signs
I tried to say that his opinion probably wasn’t mine
But with the top down he missed what I was saying
I got a lift to the foodbank from Iain Duncan Smith
Driving a vintage British sports car
With a manual gearbox (sovereignty over transmission)
And an active exhaust in full hot air position
So how come he happened to be going my way?
Well, that’s where you’ll find all his constituents these days
Liz is ready to press the button
And usher in global annihilation
It’s an important duty, says she
I see it as an expectation
Liz is ready to press the button
It’s on her list of things to do
It’s a way to fix the climate crisis
And sort your gas bill woes out too
Liz is ready to press the button
Fearlessly without hesitation
A step up from a selfie in a tank
Here’s me with the tools of obliteration
Liz is ready to press the button
And Vlad’s alert level just went up
Is mutually assured destruction
What they meant by levelling up?
(With apologies to Hillaire Belloc)
Tommy told such dreadful lies
It made one gasp and stretch one’s eyes
His followers, racist and uncouth
With scant regard for actual truth
Attempted to believe young Tommy
Wanted to keep sending money
And would have done so, had not he
Lied about her Majesty’s
Pleasure when he went to court
Showing off the pack he brought
‘My prison bag’, Tommy proclaimed
But later, as it was explained
At worst, he’d only get a fine
And had invented prison time
The grift exposed, to say the least
But Tommy had not said his piece
‘My lawyer, and I need the best’
‘Needs paying, and I can’t’, he stressed
His fans from near and far dug deep
Knowing counsel won’t come cheap
But were inevitably dismayed
To find that Tom had Legal Aid
One day soon, his time will come
And Tommy this time square undone
When more funds he seeks to acquire
But fascist chums cry ‘Little Liar!’
And he’s sentenced to a lengthy stint
Locked up once more, and also skint
Witchfinder Sir Kier coming round here
Coming round here with his column in The Sun
With his political flies undone
Coming round here to prosecute a witch hunt
Coming round here he’s got some front
Witchfinder Sir Kier coming round here
Coming round here frayed at the edges
Coming round here breaking his pledges
Coming round here with his Tory stripes
Coming round here not supporting the strikes
Witchfinder Sir Kier coming round here
Coming round here distanced from ideas
Abandoning our health to Tory donors and peers
Coming round here misunderstanding our community
Coming round here spreading disunity
Witchfinder Sir Kier coming round here
And if you criticise him you’ll be out on your ear
She’s cosplaying poor
He’s a mansplaining bully
There are points to be scored
If her memory’s woolly
Of nice days in Roundhay
She wants you to choose
Between her cheapo Claire’s earrings
And his posh Prada shoes
I’m the son of a chemist
Rich Rishi declares
I helped serve curry
And with Mum’s tax affairs
But he’s interrupting
Like privilege does
The audience deducting
For his hedge fund boss buzz
While both of ‘em forget
That they’re part of the problem
What they promise to fix
Was just broken by ‘em
They disagree on tax hikes
But both agree to break strikes
Mick Lynch was right
About how far they’re right
It’s the choice of a kicking
From her boots or his shoes
Come September
Who will Waitrose Woman choose?
From Yorkshire tea farms to British cheese
And broken treaties to spats with the Chinese
And mixing up the Black and the Baltic seas
She has the support of 86 MPs
From a Mrs T haircut and a picture in a tank
To ducking debates where she might draw a blank
She wants to squeeze families and bang the dumb
She’s the Anyone But Rishi for your conservative chum
From the bloke off Have I Got News For You
To the woman off I’m Sorry, I Haven’t A Clue
The shortcoming of ‘em running is as shocking as it’s stunning
Brace yourselves Britain, the cheese woman is coming
Nurses using foodbanks
Security tags on Lurpacks
His legacy ain’t witty repartee
That fella off the TV
Blow me ain’t he funny
It’s poverty
And lies
And blind eyes
And meetings with spies
The drive to privatise
The drive to Barnard Castle too
The first clue
To another rule for you
And racist too
Deportations to Rwanda
Priti Patel and her
Dog whistle, but the agenda’s his
The question master for a boozy lockdown quiz
The lies are his
The sex pests his
The rule makers breaking rules are his
Corrupt is what it is
Government on behalf of bosses, bankers and billionaires
The people about whom he cares
So wish him bye, bye and farewell
And he can fuck off from there as well
And when he walks, let him keep walking
Don’t ever tune in when he’s talking
Don’t read his books or his columns
Because you were never his problem
He’d let you starve for political gain
And we don’t want to see him round here again
Steve White & The Protest Family 