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protestfamily
Categories: protest familyTags: air miles andy, duke of york, emily maitlis, jeffrey epstein, koo stark, prince andrew, privilege, protest songs, republic, Royal Family, songwriting, the queen, writing
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Tag: songwriting
Free Stuff Jesus
An American friend pinned on a poppy
In fancy dress as an Englishman
Why? said I, well you guys fetishise
That World War Two generation
But only the war bit, man
American friends call us Brexitland
And Australian friends call us Plague Island
While Dr Chris got slapped down rude
Ordering Mexican food
And then Roger died
And all I wanna be is somewhere
Where I can order a drink
An American friend coined Pandexit
Said it’s a matter of time before your man says it
Said you guys like a portmanteau
Like no one else in the world, bro
And then Cush died
And all I wanna be is somewhere
Where I can order a drink
Free stuff Jesus, won’t you lend us a miracle
Free stuff Jesus, won’t you lend us a miracle
Free stuff Jesus, won’t you lend us a miracle
All I wanna be is somewhere
Where I can order a drink
An American friend laughed last and longer
Getting over the line on election day
While the combined archbishoprics
Of Canterbury and York
Called for time to reflect and pray
And then Simon died
And all I wanna be is somewhere
Where I can order a drink
Free stuff Jesus, won’t you lend us a miracle
Free stuff Jesus, won’t you lend us a miracle
Free stuff Jesus, won’t you lend us a miracle
All I wanna be is somewhere
Where I can order a drink
American friends call us Brexitland
And Australian friends call us plague island
So Free stuff Jesus, won’t you lend us a miracle
Free stuff Jesus, won’t you lend us a miracle
Free stuff Jesus, won’t you lend us a miracle
All I wanna be is somewhere
Where I can order a drink
One Zero Zero, Zero Zero Zero
There’s blood on the hands of Boris Johnson
Blood on the hands of Dominic Cummings
Blood on the hands of Therese Coffey
Who says that we’re all to blame
There’s blood on the hands of Matt Hancock
Blood on the hands of Dominic Raab
Blood on the hands of Boris Johnson
For whom it’s always been a game
If most of the people follow most of the rules
Most of the rules most of the time
When the rule makers blame the rule breakers
Whose is the greater crime?
One zero zero
Zero zero zero
He’s sticking firmly to his line
On mistakes, now is not the time
There’s blood on the hands of Boris Johnson
Blood on the hands of Priti Patel
Blood on the hands of Gavin Williamson
And Duncan Smith’s hands as well
If most of the people follow most of the rules
Most of the rules most of the time
When the rule makers blame the rule breakers
Whose is the greater crime?
One zero zero
Zero zero zero
He’s sticking firmly to his line
On mistakes, now is not the time
Cough Away
We’ve been in this pandemic a year or more
Cough away boys, cough away
A global pandemic from shore to shore
Cough away boys, cough away
Cough away, cough away
Cough away boys, cough away
Cough away, cough away
This was all she had to say
Governments respond very differently
Cough away boys, cough away
Based on the fact society
Cough away boys, cough away
We’ve seen just deaths around the world
Cough away boys, cough away
Harrowing death tolls around the world
Cough away boys, cough away
We let the scientists and medics guide us
Cough away boys, cough away
So there’s no single reason for you to chide us
Cough away boys, cough away
The numbers are deeply tragic
Cough away boys, cough away
But it’s still a global pandemic
Cough away boys, cough away
You know in the future we’ll all look back
Cough away boys, cough away
At the could haves the should haves we can’t take back
Cough away boys, cough away
If you think this is a speech with nothing to say
Cough away boys, cough away
It was Priti Patel just the other day
Cough away boys, cough away
What she actually said. (Courtesy of Michael Spicer).
Jacob’s Fish Are Happy Fish
Born in Hammersmith
Went to school at Eton
Then Trinity College
Oxford
Presided over the Tory
Association
Went into the City
Started a hedge fund
Amassed what they call
A significant fortune
Estimated worth
150 million
Married into money
Helen The Chair
A mate of his sister’s
Who was always there
Jacob’s fish are happy fish
Jacob’s fish are happy fish
Jacob’s fish are happy fish
Jacob’s fish are happy fish
Moved into politics
In ‘97
Didn’t get elected then
Or even at the next ‘un
In Scotland they though he was
Too posh
Canvassing with nanny
Got a resounding 9%
Fuck off, toff
Complained to Piggy Cameron
That his quotas weren’t right
Said parliament oughta be
95% white
Nicked a speech off Trevor Kavanagh
Faked an interview and then
Got a seat in North East Somerset
In 2010
Jacob’s fish are happy fish
Jacob’s fish are happy fish
Jacob’s fish are happy fish
Jacob’s fish are happy fish
In parliament he became
King of the filibuster
Thought he was funny
With his history and verse
Holding the record in the Commons
For the longest word spoken
But spoke other words
That were even worse
Addressing members of the far-right
Traditional Britain society
Who would have some of us
Made deportees
And said quarter of a million quid
Spent on MPs portraits
Was just chicken feed
Jacob’s fish are happy fish
Jacob’s fish are happy fish
Jacob’s fish are happy fish
Jacob’s fish are happy fish
He got a hand up into government
From a fellow Old Etonian
Leader of the House of Commons, no less
Then was kept away from the mics and the cameras
After he said the Grenfell victims
Lacked common sense
Now , chief Eurosceptic
Out of all the Eurosceptics
Said Trump will be our best ally
After Brexit
He likes Brits to be Brits
And the poor to be poor
And says gay marriage
Still breaks the church’s law
Jacob’s fish are happy fish
Jacob’s fish are happy fish
Jacob’s fish are happy fish
Jacob’s fish are happy fish
He broke the lockdown rules
‘Cos he prefers a Latin mass
His relationship with god
Is more important, more pious
Than your relationship
With coronavirus
He wasn’t born to follow
He was born to lead
And his vicious defence of the status quo
Is just born of greed
Jacob’s fish are happy fish
Jacob’s fish are happy fish
Jacob’s fish are happy fish
Jacob’s fish are happy fish
But Jacob can just fuck off
Right Bullets, Wrong Gun
The right bullets fired from the wrong gun
Will miss their target one by one
There’s only one sharp shot in a Johnson
Now we’ve got the right bullets
In the wrong gun
When the truth as you tell it changes
From sunrise to sunset
When definitely safe means definitely not safe
This is the recoil that you’ll get
And you’re not as persuasive
As your Latin teacher told ya
And you’re relying on a fair wind
To get you that far
When no one believes you know
The what or the how
Not even JVT
Can help you now
The right bullets fired from the wrong gun
Missing their targets one by one
There’s only one sharp shot in a Johnson
It’s the right bullets
In the wrong gun
Don’t say
We are where we are
We are where we are, we are where we are
Where are we?
We are where we are
We are where we are, we are where we are
Don’t say where are we?
When the truth as you tell it changes
From speech to speech and ear to ear
When definitely safe means definitely not safe
This is the recoil that you fear
And you’re not as persuasive
As your Latin teacher told ya
And you’re relying on a fair wind
To get you that far
When no one believes you know
The what or the how
Not even JVT
Can help you now
The right bullets fired from the wrong gun
Missing their targets one by one
There’s only one sharp shot in a Johnson
It’s the right bullets
Fired by the wrong gun
The Golden-Haired Boy
It’s that awkward bit between Christmas and New Year when you’d struggle to find things to fill newspapers with anyway, never mind the pandemic, so one of the leading lights of the Tory press, riffing on the idea of Spaffer’s miracles following his rising from the near dead at Easter, publishes a story about his latest offspring’s wonderous artistic ability. Well, it is Christmas, and a story so preposterous that they couldn’t get a journalist to put their name to it.
It’s the Xmas perineum between the 25th and the 31st
You’ve eaten, drunk and been merry ‘til your fit to burst
There’s no football, no music, no pubs in Tier 4
Not much to do if you step out of your door
Is there anything to look forward to that ain’t austere?
Well, the golden-haired boy, just eight months old
The golden-haired boy, just eight months old
The golden-haired boy, just eight months old
Crafted a hand-painted image
Of a reindeer
Of a reindeer
There’s Driver Tizer lining the hedgerows of the Garden of England
British Variant COVID making its presence felt, and
Miles and miles of queues to get into Dover
Thousands of truckers wishing Christmas was over
Is there any news to help Tories be of good cheer?
Well, there’s a golden-haired boy, just eight months old
There’s a golden-haired boy, just eight months old
There’s a golden-haired boy, just eight months old
Who crafted a hand-painted image
Of a reindeer
Of a reindeer
‘Cos Spaffer might’ve nearly died for your sins
But it’s his miracle child that’s now the thing
With The Telegraph fawning over his painting
He’s clearly the one born to be king
This golden-haired boy, just eight months old
This golden-haired boy, just eight months old
(What number is he again?)
This golden-haired boy, just eight months old
Crafted a hand-painted miracle image
Hand-painted, miracle image
Of a reindeer
Of a reindeer
An Eyeful of Nose
Emma was cold and went shopping for clothes
The heating was broken and she nearly froze
But deficient face coverings wherever she goes
Meant all Emma got was an eyeful of nose
An eyeful of nose, an eyeful of nose
All Emma got was an eyeful of nose
An eyeful of nose, an eyeful of nose
Emma see noses wherever she goes
She went to the market for blankets and throws
Cheaper than fixing the boiler I s’pose
But the trader had bad bits of his face exposed
And all Emma got was an eyeful of nose
An eyeful of nose, an eyeful of nose
All Emma got was an eyeful of nose
An eyeful of nose, an eyeful of nose
Emma see noses wherever she goes
She went to the gym for a downward dog pose
Lots of exposed knees and elbows
In communal areas, face covering’s imposed
But all Emma got was an eyeful of nose
An eyeful of nose, an eyeful of nose
All Emma got was an eyeful of nose
An eyeful of nose, an eyeful of nose
Emma see noses wherever she goes
She went to the florist to buy a nice rose
To cheer up her cold flat and brighten shadows
But the florist’s mask was part in repose
And all Emma got was an eyeful of nose
An eyeful of nose, an eyeful of nose
All Emma got was an eyeful of nose
An eyeful of nose, an eyeful of nose
Emma see noses wherever she goes
Past the fire station at the crossroads
The firefighters were out practising with their hose
With facemasks left off to talk on radios
All Emma got was an eyeful of nose
An eyeful of nose, an eyeful of nose
All Emma got was an eyeful of nose
An eyeful of nose, an eyeful of nose
Emma see noses wherever she goes
She sat on a bench, this rhyme to compose
She’s always preferred a poem to prose
A little tale of face cover ratios
And the day all she got was an eyeful of nose
An eyeful of nose, an eyeful of nose
All Emma got was an eyeful of nose
An eyeful of nose, an eyeful of nose
Emma see noses wherever she goes
Christmas With the Vulnerables
Mr and Mrs Vulnerable
The nice old dears
Have not seen much of anyone
Since March this year
Except the fella with the Tesco van
The DPD delivery man
Her next door, whose name is Anne
Who dropped them off some beer
But when they heard there was an armistice
For Christmas friends and relatives
They bought a tree and wrapped some gifts
Full of good cheer
It’s Christmas with the Vulnerables
It’s the most wonderful
Time of the year
Now, poor old Mrs Vulnerable
Has a little trouble
With her breathing
But the doctor ain’t seen her
She blames it on advancing years
A health and safety-free career
It’s been the same for all her peers
Who call it emphysema
But she’s invited all the family round
Ordered in a turkey crown
They’ve had a Christmas bubble count
And no-ones got a fever
So, it’s Christmas with the Vulnerables
It’s the most wonderful
Time of the year
They’re reckon it’s OK to ask
Everyone to wear a mask
Don’t want this one to be their last
Christmas (Whamageddon!)
So Little Sal and Baby Dan
Will have to santise their hands
And try hard not to hug their nan
Like biological weapons
Fingers crossed and wish them well
A Christmas with full sense of smell
Pleased as man with man to dwell
Let’s hope they all can get on
It’s Christmas with the Vulnerables
It’s the most wonderful
Time of the year
Blue Passport Fishing
Gunships, fish and chips
Protecting no-deal Brexits
But the fish don’t care
If you think they’re Brits
The fish don’t care
To be served with chips
See that little bastard swimming in the sea
That little bastard belongs to me
(He’s got a blue passport)
See that little bastard swimming in the sea
That little bastard belongs to me
(He’s got a blue passport)
Gunboats, keeping Spaffer afloat
Strong man nationalist
Someone get him
A Stone Island coat
It’s quote very very likely
Unquote
See that little bastard swimming in the sea
That little bastard belongs to me
(He’s got a blue passport)
See that little bastard swimming in the sea
That little bastard belongs to me
(He’s got a blue passport)
And the plucky little fisherman ain’t all he seems
There’s corporate interest behind the scenes
(And a blue passport)
Gunships, fish and chips
Protecting no-deal Brexits
But the fish don’t care
If you think they’re Brits
The fish don’t care
To be served with chips
See that little bastard swimming in the sea
That little bastard belongs to me
(He’s got a blue passport)
See that little bastard swimming in the sea
That little bastard belongs to me
(He’s got a blue passport)
And the plucky little fisherman ain’t all he seems
There’s corporate interest behind the scenes
Ask about the quotas, you’ll see what I mean
(And a blue passport)
Steve White & The Protest Family 