Swastikas in the Sand

The tide’s been going out for ages
Rishi’s got a bucket and spade
There’s a little bit less to go around these days
So Rishi’s got a new game
He knows he’s not the most popular kid
But Rishi’s got a plan
The tide’s been going out for ages
And he’s drawing swastikas in the sand

Swastikas in the sand
He’s drawing swastikas in the sand
The tide’s been going out for ages
And he’s drawing swastikas in the sand

Jonathan and Lee think that Rishi’s fab
They want to join in the game
Please let us play with you Rishi
This lark should really have a name
I’m going to call it Stop the Boats
Whoever’s on them just gets banned
The tide’s been going out for ages
And they’re drawing swastikas in the sand

Swastikas in the sand
They’re drawing swastikas in the sand
The tide’s been going out for ages
And they’re drawing swastikas in the sand

There’s hundreds and millions and billions
Suella joins the game with glee
I bet I can stop the boats the best
Oh Rishi, won’t you play with me
We can pretend they’re all evil
And we should never let them land
The tide’s been going out for ages
And she’s drawing swastikas in the sand

Swastikas in the sand
She’s drawing swastikas in the sand
The tide’s been going out for ages
And she’s drawing swastikas in the sand

Swastikas in the sand
They’re drawing swastikas in the sand
The tide’s been going out for ages
And they’re drawing swastikas in the sand

Stop the Boats

Diddy Rishi Dastardly’s petard will soon be hoist
“Yes General”, he says to the off-screen muffled voice
But Zilly’s done a runner, he thinks Rwanda isn’t fair
And Klunk has got a legal plan that hasn’t got a prayer
While Dastardly just wants the Vulture Squadron in the air
‘Cause Yankee Doodle Refugee will lose him Red Wall votes
While Muttley snickers “medal”, he’s crying “Stop the boats!”

Resignation Honours

What the fuck are resignation honours
Can they be bought with foreign dollars
Or are they just for a certain type of cad
Like the ex-PM’s wife-beating dad
With form for familial awards
Having put his brother in the House of Lords

If we’re to let him have his way
Then their post-nominals all should say
KBTW, BJ
Displayed proudly by their name

Arise, Sir Stanley, Lord of Wrong ‘Un
Knighted by that wanker, Boris Johnson

Put Up, Shut Up Britain

Get a job, get a second job, get a better job
And pretend that Covid never happened
Budget for your tea, better budget 30p
And pretend that there’s no increase in the gap, and

You’re gonna have to wait four hours for an ambulance
You’re gonna have to live at home with your parents
You’re gonna have companies that don’t do what they oughta
You’re gonna have some of them shitting in the water

Do away with your daily latte
Your Netflix subscription will have to wait another day
Bring your bus pass if you want to have a vote
Don’t turn up here in a small boat

Be prepared to join a queue
For tomatoes, cucumbers too
But a good little Brit knows what to do
Go to work on some turnip stew

Welcome to Put Up Shut Up Britain
Welcome to Put Up Shut Up Britain
Welcome to Put Up Shut Up Britain
Welcome to Put Up Shut Up Britain

Vote Tomatoes, Get Turnips

There’s too much choice these days, says Thérèse
Vote tomatoes, get turnips

We’re not to blame for the rain in Spain
Vote tomatoes, get turnips

Cherish specialism, not pessimism
Vote tomatoes, get turnips

The bill’s too high for your local supply
Vote tomatoes, get turnips

Fruit and veg ration is the latest fashion
Vote tomatoes, get turnips

And it’s nothing to do with leaving the EU
Vote tomatoes, get turnips

Virtual Wards

She’s on a virtual ward
In a virtual hospital
She saw a virtual doctor
On a video call

She said your virtual op
Will just have to wait
Theatre virtually
Always runs late

She got a virtual ambulance
All the way down the stairs
No virtual paramedic, though
In virtual care

She’s in a virtual hospital
Under a virtual team
They promised us forty
Just not virtually

She’s on a virtual ward
Receiving virtual care
From a virtual government
That virtually doesn’t

Money Goes to Money

They’re running rather than getting beat
They’re starting to vote with their feet
The rats are leaving faster than the ship can sink
Like their shit doesn’t stink
Like their shit ain’t on the brink
Like it ain’t shit to think
That money goes to money is okay
That money goes to money is the only way
That money goes to money
Goes to money goes to money

Meanwhile in an imaginary navy
Penny’s insincere smile
Mouths coyly look at me
Admire my philanthropy
Admire my new food pantry
While opposing free school meals
Don’t that just hit you in the feels?
A proper Scrooge turned fake Marley
As the money goes to money
Goes to money goes to money

The posties on the picket know
They’ve got to hold the line
Firefighters, nurses, teachers
Among the left behind
As the money goes to money
And the warm bank number grows
The money goes to money
And the pubs begin to close
As the money goes to money
Goes to money goes to money

They ain’t here to manage the crisis
Just the TV news
This morning’s media message is
Another excuse to bruise
The money goes to money
As they put the word about
That there ain’t no money
You’ll just have to do without
As the money goes to money
Goes to money goes to money

Lynch’s mob don’t need to strike
The train’s already fucked
And Mrs Smith’s replacement hips
Well, she’s just out of luck
Hancock, pushed, jumped anyway
Says he’s still got lots to say
Not even in opposition
Would there be a point to listen
While the money goes to money
Goes to money goes to money

The money knows no borders
The money knows no shame
The money only hears the sighs
Of the rich who coo its name
Like Michelle, Robber Baroness
The PPE millionairess
Banished as Rishi fakes it tough
She’ll be back soon enough
As the money goes to money
Goes to money goes to money

Money goes to money
While the rest get less and less
Money goes to money
What a fuckin’ mess

The 21st Century Money Trick

Every day of your life
Every penny you make
You’re gonna spend it
On the things that you need
The things that you want
You’re gonna beg, borrow, steal or lend it
But in the morning when Rishi gets out of bed
In his account there’s even more of your bread
Because the money always trickles up
When they say it trickles down

Now Rishi will tell ya
He’s a jolly fine fella
Who sorted your furlough out
But who did he pay
At the end of the day
Those with or those without
‘Cause he borrowed loads of money, gave it to me and you
And we went and spent it all on bills and food
And that’s how furlough trickled up
When they said it trickled down

It’s the 21st Century money trick
Same as the old one but twice as quick
Borrow loads of money at the public expense
And get ‘em to spend it with your wealthy friends

The stuff you need to buy
You inevitably buy
From a billionaire
Whose money makes money
Just on account
Of being loads and being there
So there’s a hole in your pocket where your wages go
While his pile of money continues to grow
And that’s how the money trickles up
When they say it trickles down

It’s the 21st Century money trick
Same as the old one but twice as quick
Borrow loads of money at the public expense
And get ‘em to spend it with your wealthy friends

Every day of your life
Every penny you earn
You’re gonna spend it
But in the billionaire’s garden
The money tree grows
Well defended
‘Cause your work makes money, but his money makes money
So when it rains on you, he’s still sunny
And that’s how the money trickles up
When they say it trickles down

The Point

There’s a point to this and the point is this
He’s very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very
Very, very, very, very rich

It don’t matter that he’s Hindu, Buddhist, Anglican or Jew
Member of the Church of the Latter Day Dude
He could be an atheist, Taoist or a Jainist
An only-goes-at-Christmas, or a Catholic priest
What matters is he’s very, very, very, very, very, very
Very, very, very, very rich

It don’t matter he’s South Asian, though a nice change from Caucasian
He might as well be Bajan, Filipino or Malaysian
He might as well have landed in an alien space invasion
What matters is he’s very, very, very, very, very, very
Very, very, very, very rich

It don’t matter that his mum ran the local pharmacy
She could have made a living catching fishes in the sea
Or been a minor member of a foreign royalty
Or the woman at a non-league football club that makes the tea
What matters is he’s very, very, very, very, very, very
Very, very, very, very rich

It don’t matter how much money Boris Johnson’s got
Or the size of Liz Truss’s 44-day pension pot
He’s the Prime Minister and thankfully they’re not
And like them he’s very, very, very, very, very, very
Very, very, very, very rich

It matters that he’s very, very rich
Because he presides over policies which
Scratch the greediest of greediest itch
And at poverty doesn’t so much flinch or twitch
And that’s the pitch that for a decade or more
The biggest growth is the gap between the rich and the poor
Knock, knock, there’s a landlord at your door
As the own-you-own-homing middle class
Reliable elbows to the Tories’ arse
Are soon becoming a thing of the past….

There’s a point to this and the point is this
He’s very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very
Very, very, very, very rich

102 Supporters (Yeah, Right)

Like Brent turning up at the office
With a guitar they don’t want to hear
All together now, let’s restart the disco
Has fallen on deaf Tory ears
He came back from holiday to die for their sins
But the MP’s would rather he stayed in the bin
Let’s restart the disco, all together now
Cincinnatus, best you fuck off back to your plough