You are what you read but all you read is your feed You are what you watch just YouTube and Tiktoks You are what you listen to, Model T music Written by robots, use it or lose it
Slop in, slop out Slop in, slop out Slop in, slop out
They sold the lifestyle, you bought the tat Broken tomorrow, never mind that They sold the sizzle, but you bought the sausage Stare at the screen, that’s where the slop is
Slop in, slop out Slop in, slop out Slop in, slop out
You know where this ends In the arms of your virtual girlfriend
Slop in, slop out, Model T music Slop in, slop out, Model T music Slop in, slop out Model T music
A date with Suno, where will you go She steals the tunes, just so you know It’s all a remix, Model T music Written by robots, use it or lose it
Slop in, slop out Slop in, slop out Slop in, slop out
You know where this ends In the arms of your virtual girlfriend
Slop in, slop out, Model T music Slop in, slop out, Model T music Slop in, slop out Model T music
Your grandad shot at nazis taxed the rich and built the NHS You mum fought for equality and fairness, nonetheless we sleepwalked into the arms of bastard billionaires Now you hang flags from lampposts and mouth pantomime prayers
In Eleanor’s vineyard, Tommy’s on his knees, pretending to pray He holds his bible upside down and wonders what Charlie would say His god washed Islamophobic endeavour gains new followers every day But he’s a coked up criminal grifter who’s going away
And they sing ‘Oh, Tommy, Tommy’ and we sing ‘Fuck off’ They sing ‘Oh, Tommy, Tommy’ and we sing ‘Fuck off’ They sing ‘Oh, Tommy, Tommy’ and we sing ‘Fuck off’ Sometimes you just got to get it off your chest They sing ‘Oh, Tommy, Tommy’ and we sing ‘Fuck off’ They sing ‘Oh, Tommy, Tommy’ and we sing ‘Fuck off’ They sing ‘Oh, Tommy, Tommy’ and we sing ‘Fuck off’ Sometimes you just got to get it off your chest
You can’t write everybody off, some folk are just taken in The difference between influenced and influencers is written on the tin But when the fascists are at the door be sure to not let them in And he’s a coked up criminal grifter who should be in the bin
And they sing ‘Oh, Tommy, Tommy’ and we sing ‘Fuck off’ They sing ‘Oh, Tommy, Tommy’ and we sing ‘Fuck off’ They sing ‘Oh, Tommy, Tommy’ and we sing ‘Fuck off’ Sometimes you just got to get it off your chest They sing ‘Oh, Tommy, Tommy’ and we sing ‘Fuck off’ They sing ‘Oh, Tommy, Tommy’ and we sing ‘Fuck off’ They sing ‘Oh, Tommy, Tommy’ and we sing ‘Fuck off’ Sometimes you just got to get it off your chest
Now Jesus of Nazareth was many things But nationalism won’t win you your angel wings Your patriotic cross is just so much toss So you can Oh Tommy Tommy off
When they sing ‘Oh, Tommy, Tommy’ and we sing ‘Fuck off’ They sing ‘Oh, Tommy, Tommy’ and we sing ‘Fuck off’ They sing ‘Oh, Tommy, Tommy’ and we sing ‘Fuck off’ Sometimes you just got to get it off your chest They sing ‘Oh, Tommy, Tommy’ and we sing ‘Fuck off’ They sing ‘Oh, Tommy, Tommy’ and we sing ‘Fuck off’ They sing ‘Oh, Tommy, Tommy’ and we sing ‘Fuck off’ Sometimes you just got to get it off your chest
He died for his country The first of the fallen From Operation Raise The Colours
The tributes came pouring in From football hooligans And casual sisters and brothers
Banned for life from Bristol City Now he’s banned in Bristol City from life He leaves behind Michele, his wife He leaves his ladders to the flag committee
His life was colourful, it’s said Like the roundabouts he painted red And the thoughts rushing through his head With the pavement straight ahead
He died for his country The first of the fallen From Operation Raise The Colours
My advice: don’t hang the flags at all But if you do, get some footed help from others
There’s a particular breed of British protest music that refuses to die quietly, despite every attempt by algorithms and streaming platforms to suffocate it with playlists and bite-sized consumption. Steve White & The Protest Family’s Evidence-Based Punk Rock belongs to this stubborn lineage, standing defiantly at the crossroads where Billy Bragg’s righteous fury meets the Manic Street Preachers’ conceptual ambition.
What ultimately elevates Evidence-Based Punk Rock above mere agitprop is its refusal to wallow in despair. The press release’s declaration that “things might be grim, but better world is possible” isn’t just marketing copy—it’s the album’s beating heart. In an era where cynicism masquerades as sophistication, there’s something genuinely punk about maintaining hope while clear-eyed about the obstacles.
Peter The Homeless Santa Plotted up outside the Little Tesco We exchange the usual banter But there’s not much room for a Ho, Ho, Ho He’d be better off in a stable But stable ain’t what he’s got Peter The Homeless Santa Is in his usual spot
Peter The Homeless Santa Has a beard that’s not exactly white as snow But it’s gone greyer quicker Than an indoor beard would go Peter The Homeless Santa Is making a list, he’s checking it twice A tenner would be lovely A sandwich might be nice
He ain’t got a reindeer, he ain’t got a sleigh He ain’t even got a safe place to stay It might as well be Christmas every day ‘Cause every day’s the same on the streets
Peter The Homeless Santa Gets a wave as people come and go Some might stop for a few words But he has no use for mistletoe Peter The Homeless Santa No stocking, no Christmas tree Peter The Homeless Santa Three missing pay checks could be you or me
He ain’t got a reindeer, he ain’t got a sleigh He ain’t even got a safe place to stay It might as well be Christmas every day ‘Cause every day’s the same on the streets
Every Christmas, Santa Had a gift for me in his sack So Outside Little Tesco I try to give Santa a little back
He ain’t got a reindeer, he ain’t got a sleigh He ain’t even got a safe place to stay It might as well be Christmas every day ‘Cause every day’s the same on the streets
Steve White & The Protest Family 