The river slapped against the dock,
unpleasantly,
incessantly.
We stood under the bridge
where Walworth once
had Tyler’s head displayed.
A revolt betrayed
by a misplaced faith in kings.
It’s not enough, she said,
to pull men from the river.
We must also go upstream
to see who pushed them in.
Upstream, the palace,
its sunlit terraces,
its privileged view.
We knew.
As Tyler before us knew too.
The moon shone bright, the frost was cruel
He lived a good league hence
But here to gather winter fuel
Lest he should burn the forest fence
When Wenceslas he did espy
And cried out Sire, why walk you by
And no longer bring me pine logs hither
Ye, who would bless the poor
A Christian man, good and sure
Whose allowance he’s content to wither
Wenceslas, full of grace
Struck the peasant in the face
Then struck again as he lay prone
Admonishing, leave me alone
Therefore, English men be sure
Without rank possessing
Question Wenceslas’s care
And you’ll receive his blessing
Tina believed the Big Lie
Now Tina’s gonna have to let time go by
‘Cause Tina broke in to the voting machine
To try to prove that Donald’s hands were clean
But Donald’s hands are dirty as hell
Now Tina’s hands are dirty as well
Now Tina’s gonna have to let time go by
‘Cause Tina believed the Big Lie….(and My Pillow Guy)
Tina and My Pillow Guy
Tina and My Pillow Guy (and the Big Lie)
Tina and My Pillow Guy
Will have to say goodbye
Tina believed in My Pillow Guy
Now Tina’s gonna have to let time go by
‘Cause Tina broke into the voting machine
To try to prove that Donald’s hands were clean
But Donald’s hands are dirty as hell
And Mike’s hands are dirty as well
Now Tina’s gonna have to let time go by
‘Cause Tina believed in My Pillow Guy
Tina and My Pillow Guy
Tina and My Pillow Guy (and the Big Lie)
Tina and My Pillow Guy
Will have to say goodbye
Tina believed the Big Lie
Now Tina’s gonna have to let time go by
Tina broke into the voting machine
To try to prove that Donald’s hands were clean
But Donald’s hands are dirty as hell
Now Tina’s hands are dirty as well
And Tina’s gonna have to let time go by
‘Cause Tina believed the Big Lie
A cloth so beautiful, he said
I’ll weave for you, Sir Kier
That to the simple or unfit
Invisible ‘t will appear
These splendid clothes, I just must have
What do they cost, pray tell
To you it’s free, the Baron said
‘N’ I’ll dress your wife as well
He set up looms and set to work
Weaving night and day
And yet the golden thread they brought
He simply put away
Kier sent a spad to view the cloth
It’s gorgeous, he announced
Seeing nothing, but for fear
That he might be denounced
His Chief of Staff gave equal praise
Lest she be seen unfit
The most magnificent I’ve seen
Was all she dared submit
And so, Sir Kier came to view
This cloth beyond compare
The best design I ever wove
The Baron did declare
It surely is, Sir Kier agreed
Though there was nowt to see
Neither simple nor unfit
Could he be seen to be
So pleased he seemed that no one dared
To baulk or disagree
And the Baron was rewarded
With a Westminster Palace key
He sewed all night by candlelight
His scissors keen and steady
Cut unseen cloth, and as dawn broke
He cried, Kier’s suit is ready
Your trousers, he presented
Your jacket and your tie
So light, like wearing nothing
Oh, how splendid, the reply
Upon the people, he processed
How beautiful, they cooed
And not a soul dared suggest
Sir Kier was in the nude
Until a child’s voice, young Owen
The crowd all heard his call
Sir Kier, I declare is wearing
Not a thing at all
Listen to the child, they said
Sir Kier’s glamour gone
But there was nothing for it
So, he, naked, just marched on
Kier’s half-naked and freezing
There is no budget for clothes
PMQ’s in his underpants
And even his wife bought those
Nobody thought to tell him
There’s no shirts on the public purse
You need a rich donor for clothing
Or it’s just boxers or worse
Kier’s half-naked and freezing
Because of the bribe he ignored
PMQ’s in his underpants
It’s all the clothes we can afford
A two grand hat made out of bears
Is what the British foot guard wears
It’s stupid, cruel, just not funny
And a massive waste of money
While Rachel says we can’t afford
For winter fuel to be restored
And Auntie freezes in her flat
The guardsman wears a two grand hat
A two grand hat made out of bears
Hunted, shot and trapped in snares
Stupid, cruel and just not funny
And makes guards faint when it gets sunny
Dickens might’ve written him
The people ain’t forgiven him
And here he is
Large as lives
Blunt as knives
Doesn’t care who lives or dies
Has important meetings
And you’re keeping him from eating
He’s only gonna give you up ‘til lunch
Dickens might’ve written him
Cameron permitted him
And here he is
Large as death
Of wicked heft
Foul contempt upon his breath
Too important to be here
Which he’s making very clear
You’ll not stop him leaving for his lunch
Dickens might’ve written him
The truth has still not bitten him
And here he is
Large as prayers
Cold as cares
Dare scrutinise his affairs
His shield of importance
Bearing dents from this performance
Looks like he’s gonna have to miss his lunch
Pickles is late for his lunch
As his tummy rumbling
Testy testimony testifies
He doesn’t really care who dies
It’s a numbers game
With minions to blame
And so long as business
Can do business
Unimpeded by the need
To keep folk safe
From corporate greed
He’ll be grand
Baron, as he is
Of this green and pleasant land
Pickles is late for his lunch
And he doesn’t care
For this line, laying bare
His disregard for public safety
When the job’s to shrink the state
He’s totally on board
The reward
A seat in the Lords
Where there’s Wednesday prayers
For billionaires
Pickles is late for his lunch
And ready to bail
He’s late for his tucker
Let’s chuck the fucker
In jail
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
Steve White & The Protest Family 