Tag: poetry

Things Are Gonna Get Worse

His look defiant, his words are terse
Things are gonna get worse
He’s got bad news for the public purse
Things are gonna get worse
There’s cuts that he will not reverse
A line which he will not traverse
He’s economically risk averse
Things are gonna get worse

For hopes and dreams, he’s called a hearse
Things are gonna get worse
Bad news doctor, bad news nurse
Things are gonna get worse
There’s multinationals to reimburse
Shareholder dividends to disburse
A billionaire’s laughter is a curse
Things are gonna get worse

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Doing Time For Nigel

Derek Drummond, 58
Punched a copper in the face
Stole some bricks and threw them straight
He’s doing time for Nigel

Declan Geiran joined the fight
Tried to set a van alight
Admitted arson, as you might
He’s doing time for Nigel

John O’Malley, 43
Helped destroy the library
Now he’s under lock and key
He’s doing time for Nigel

William Morgan, 69
Brought a cosh with crime in mind
His next few years are well defined
He’s doing time for Nigel

England ‘til I die, they cried
With Little Tommy as their guide
Now they’ve got a bit inside
They’re doing time for Nigel

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Cold Sausage Rolls

His nan died in a hospital corridor
His mum says her UC’s a ‘mare
He’s stuck for life in the box room
No girlfriend will wanna come there

He’s scrawled across the middle of a Cross of St. George
In marker, Stop The Boats
He’s been told for so long that’s the answer
A three-word bid for votes

He’s doing the windows, he’s lighting a fire
Chucking bricks at police patrols
He’s marking the murder of three little girls
With a tray of cold sausage rolls

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Untitled (5 August 2024)

It’s happy hour in The New Austerity Inn
And there’s still fighting in town
You can’t have it if you can’t afford it
Rachel doubles down
But two for the price of one
When you ain’t got the price of one
Ain’t helping anyone
And it’s not like she can just print money

It was just the same with George behind the jump
Gets a wry nod from the snug
Now there was a fella with no idea
Of how to run a pub

I spoke to a man who said he was a patriot
But he didn’t like the country much
He said he wasn’t a racist, but
And we really didn’t get past the but
Because he was retweeting Robinson
And Nigel Fucking Farage
A burning hotel in Rotherham
And rioters at large

Sweeping up with a hangover
I hear he got a sympathetic ear
From Nick Ferrari on LBC
GB News and Talk TV

Another bloke said well what do you expect
When people ain’t got a thing
There’s a burning police car outside
And it’s happy hour
In The New Austerity Inn

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Untitled (31 July 2024)

It’s happy hour in The New Austerity Inn
And a fight’s already broken out
If you can’t afford it, you can’t have it
Rachel cries, as another brick flies
And machetes are drawn in the street outside
Someone’s set fire to a police van
Someone’s shouting at Keith with a wreath
Someone says what about the children
A small voice what about the children
But the far right are flying the flag
And Rachel says God Save The King

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Untitled (26 July 2024)

Kicked in the head by airport cops
While Dujardin flogs her horse
For sections of the listenership
The horse was worse of course
Now she’s not going to the Olympics
But the child rapist is
What jobs should rapists be allowed
Is Thursday’s phone-in quiz
On Leading Britain’s Conversation
The hang and flog ‘em crowd
Who never stop to ask
Why Tommy Robinson’s allowed
Which leaves it up to us
To never let the haters win
Leading Britain’s Racists
Back to the fuckin’ bin
Tapping their fascist toes
To Louise Distras, I suppose
A far cry from The Factory Floor
And The Hand You Hold
I suspect this ain’t the album
That many folk were sold
Don’t give up hope
Beryl would remind us
It remains a slippery slope

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The Bullet Came From His Side of the Wall

It got him in the ear
But was aiming for his head
He was up shaking his fist
When he could’ve been brown bread
Underneath a Secret Service sprawl
And the bullet came from his side of the wall

It got him in the ear
And he didn’t even duck
But some others in the crowd
Didn’t have that kind of luck
Corey Contemporare took the fall
And the bullet came from his side of the wall

It got him in the ear
It was a bit tin anyway
He’s less of a listener
And more I’ll have my say
Now he’s a shoe-in for the Whitehouse in the fall
And the bullet came from his side of the wall

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Spain 2-1 England

He packs away the pop-up tent
The kids were watching in
And sends congrats
To friends viewing in Spain

In high streets up and down the land
The homeward trudge of England fans
The disappointment
And the not again

No shame in second best
But the DV stats attest
That some blokes really shouldn’t mix booze
With their pain

The armchair rancour piles up
As Morata lifts the cup
Brings an end
To the ’24 campaign

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Joe Biden vs. George Clooney

Uncle Joe drops bombs
But he’s stopped telling rights from wrongs
And knowing who is who (is who?)
What’s a democrat to do?

Big fucking deal to big fuck all
Is what fifty million saw
Or fifty-one, says favourite son
George Clooney, born in ‘61
With earnest Hollywood clout

Who’s gonna keep the wall guy out?

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