They’re rolling out the tanks
For the trooping of Trump’s colours
While the army train their guns on the workers of L.A.
And he holds Benny’s hand
While he drops bombs on Iranians
And starves Palestinians
I pray for rain on his parade
Jakey’s got a new job
Care of that Supreme Court mob
What’s inside your boxers or briefs?
Jakey’s joined the toilet police
Jakey’s simply upholding the act
He needs to see your biological fact
He’s got his eye on your tomboy niece
Jakey’s joined the toilet police
An orderly queue, if you please
At the checkpoint for the Ladies
In his jackboots and company fleece
Jakey’s joined the toilet police
This website draws a picture
It really don’t take long
Here’s my ten seconds’ labour
For you to gaze upon
Who needs pen and paper
When all you do is type a prompt
No human being needed
Tell the robot what you want
It was clever, it was funny
It was quick and it was free
Upload your own image here
Wow friends and family
They liked it and they shared it
Like there was nothing wrong
And the AI kept on drawing
Until all the art had gone
Rachel took the ramp away.
“Happy hour is over,” she said. “If you can’t get into The New Austerity Inn unaided, then maybe this isn’t the pub for you.”
Liz, the HR manager from the brewery, nodded in agreement, and suggested shutting the pub during the day. “This is the pub of work,” she said. “People who can work, must work, and shouldn’t be coming in here instead.”
Rachel looked around her. Trade was down and the beer was going sour. “Yes,” she said. “That’s what we’ll do.”
Does it smell nice?
A letter from the king
Of scented ink, that kind of thing
Mellifluous craft and flowery word
Meticulously well-observed
Or does it smell of dusty palaces and old men
Tainted by the mouldering stench of then
Sparse script spiked with iron gall
As if the king should have to write at all
How tightly clenched, the royal jaw
How white-knuckled, the royal paw
Nib mashed to page, the words appear
One so looks forward to your second visit here
Behold, for sure, a regal thing
But what’s that smell?
A letter from the king
He exercised free speech
To say he’d been denied free speech
There are things, he said, I’m not allowed to say
And then he said them anyway
We told him, you can say anything you want to say
There’s just one thing you really ought to know
If you set out to harm somebody else with your words
Then we reserve the right to tell you so
He said, oh
But there are crime crimes
Things that I know to be a crime
Then there are hate crimes
That I’m not sure are actually a crime
We took our time
If your crime’s linked to the colour of your poor victim’s skin
Or motivated by the relationship they’re in
Then what you did is a crime just the same
It’s just your hate has given it a name
But then, he said, there’s non-crime hate
We just said, mate
It’s your hate that you should be working on
He balled his fists, he stamped his feet
He said, you see, there’s no free speech
And with the rattle of a red pill
He was gone
Damian picks his nose in the Oval Office
Wipes it on the desk like no one’s there
Damian speaks his mind without question
Damian meets the world with a confident stare
Damian hitched a ride on his father’s shoulder
His black-capped charger stamps a hoof and neighs
He knows all this will be his when he’s older
The Master of all that he surveys
Damian is laughing at democracy
Damian whispers in the President’s ear
Damian picks his nose in the Oval Office
Damian knows his time is nearly here
They’re packing up their space rockets and leaving
Britain is bleeding billionaires
But they can’t take their fixed assets with them
So nobody but Rachel really cares
Elon is a fascist, who knew?
Does that mean that Donald is a fascist too?
Well, let’s count the ways, starting at one
Does he keep the company of fascist chums?
That’s a given, what about two?
Does he blame people who don’t look like me and you?
Absolutely! The enemy
Simultaneously powerful and weak, at three
At four, the opposition
Who he keeps threatening to put in prison
A messianic hero, at five
An assassin’s bullet and he’s still alive
Okay, but what about six?
Does Donald have any other fascist tricks?
Plenty, like the cult of tradition
Typical of a man in his position
Six? Okay, now is that all you’ve got?
At seven his obsession that there’s some kind of plot
You must remember QAnon and all that jazz
Conspiracies like every good fascist has
At eight, action, for action’s sake
“It’s gonna be beautiful”, is Donald’s take
With macho, macho weapons at any excuse
He already said he’s gonna let all hell break loose
If another nation doesn’t tow the line
Which, if I count correctly, brings us up to nine
Authoritarian, that’s in at ten
At eleven, gender limited to women and men
Twelve, there’s no sitting on the fence
Anyone not for him is counted as against
Thirteen? Well, he’s a populist
And fourteen is the end of Umberto’s list
Is Donald a fascist? Let’s count the ways
Brace yourselves people for dark, dark days
Oh, how different, if we had won the war!
There’d be no Nazis in The Whitehouse, that’s for sure
We’d all have homes for heroes, provided by the state
Free healthcare at point of need, without having to wait
Refuge for the needy and the poor
Oh, how different, if we had won the war!
Oh, how different, if we had won the war!
We’d want for nowt, and never need for more
One nation under God
Even if you think that’s odd
And everybody welcome at our shore
Oh, how different, if we had won the war!
Oh, how different, if we had won the war!
Working would never be a chore
We’d all know fair is fair
And millionaires would pay their share
There’d be no Nazis in The Whitehouse, that’s for sure
Oh, how different, if we had won the war!
