If it’s 5-1 down at half-time
And one minute to midnight,
Then this metaphorical football match
Is not in Glasgow tonight.
It’s in Russia or Malaysia
Or elsewhere in Asia
Or Western Australia.
And now he’s introduced a Bond-style doomsday device
Are you guessing his advice
Is doomed to failure?
Because COP Number One didn’t get it done,
Nor did COP Number Two (’96 in Geneva).
The Kyoto protocol did pretty much sod all
As a reducing greenhouse gas emission lever.
And that was COP3, COP4 had little clout,
And COPs 5 to 12 did nothing to write home about.
COP 13 said refocus on CO2.
COP 14 said give technology to developing economies
And COP15, in Copenhagen, said that too.
COP16 did little to convince
As CO2 levels have risen ever since,
And the treaty promised by COP17
Was never seen. So much for green.
COP18 in Doha, didn’t get very far,
And COP19 had little clout, when nearly everyone walked out.
COP20 was in Lima, Peru,
And nobody remembers what they resolved to do.
The COP21 Paris Agreement said
Forget CO2, let’s target temperature instead.
COP22 did nothing new,
Nor did COP23, actually,
And COP24 also did no more.
While COP25 in Madrid
Just said and did what the others all said and did.
So, what’s your aspiration for COP26?
With metaphor faffing,
Up the wall spaffing,
Johnson between the sticks.
Tag: writing
COP26: What’s This?
COP26, what’s this?
COP26, what’s it gonna fix?
COP26, just more politics
And we’re running out of time.
This flooding is brought to you by Microsoft
This wildfire by Sainsbury’s and our friends at Sky
This drought by Unilever and some others we forgot
We’re saving the planet
One multinational at a time
Your speech is sponsored by “blah, blah, blah”
Your blind eye by corporate environmental crime
It’s greenwash, we know what you are
You’re not saving the planet
And were running out of time
You’ve got the tarmac, but we’ve got the glue
You’re stuck on the motorway, and we’re stuck on it too
You can stick your air source heat pump scheme,
‘Cos that just will not do
You’ve got the tarmac,
but we make the glue!
Rivers Of Shit
It’s 2021, and we’re still paying the price
As once again enforcement just becomes advice
We’re used to Tories doing things that really ain’t that nice
But this one, I must admit, came as a surprise
‘Cos they’re shitting in the rivers and they’re shitting in the sea
George Eustice reckons it’s okay, environmentally
So, if you’re heading for your local spot to take a pleasant dip
Remember, like the Tories it’s just full of shit
Raw sewage at the seaside isn’t very nice
So, there’s a handy sign up to give you this advice
You should keep your mouth and nose closed and best shut your eyes too
‘Cos your Tory MP voted for you to bathe in poo
They’re shitting in the rivers and they’re shitting in the sea
They’re shitting on the likes of you and the likes of me
So, if your heading for your local spot to take a pleasant dip
Remember, like the Tories it’s just full of shit
In the absence of all reason they put it to the vote
To throw shit into the rivers to float amongst the boats
Two hundred and fifty Tories put their hands up for the right
To fill your local waterway up with shite
They’re shitting in the rivers and they’re shitting in the sea
They’re shitting on the likes of you and the likes of me
So, if your heading for your local spot to take a pleasant dip
Remember, like the Tories it’s just full of shit
The River
She pulled him out of the river
Fed him, clothed him, found him a home
Cos pulling folk out the river
Is the only way she’s ever known
She pulls him out of the river
And tomorrow she’ll pull him out again
She pulls him out of the river
But she’ll never meet the bastards
That keep throwing him in
Keep throwing him in
She pulls them out of the river
Without ever asking from where they’ve come
Fishing souls out the river
And some days her day’s work is never done
She pulls him out of the river
And tomorrow she’ll pull him out again
She pulls him out of the river
But she’ll never meet the bastards
That keep throwing him in
Keep throwing him in
She’s fishing souls out the river
Seems that’s the way it’s always been
While the soulless bastards in government
Keep throwing them in
She pulls him out of the river
And tomorrow she’ll pull him out again
She pulls him out of the river
But she’ll never meet the bastards
That keep throwing him in
Keep throwing him in
She’s fishing souls out the river
Seems that’s the way it’s always been
While the soulless bastards in government
Keep throwing us in
Keep throwing us in
Keep throwing us in
Jayda’s at It Again
From Glasgow Southside to Southend West,
A crusader, invader of mosques and the rest,
A patriot, self-confessed,
A racist, no less, self-obsessed,
Contests
Elections.
So she can advocate, give weight
And seek a mandate for her hate.
Her will to aggravate and alienate
Does not abate.
It’s gross,
The violent intolerance that she promotes,
In red top quotes,
One hopes
Will get no votes.
[Story here.]
Steve’s Retirement Do – Reviewed by Jason Newson
I ummed and ahhhed about reviewing this one as I know a couple of the guys in the band, even played in a band with one of them, it could be a bit awks if it’s a bit of a shit show, but it wasn’t, in fact I really enjoyed it.
This sell out show doubled up as Steve’s retirement do and to my surprise, if you had a pink wristband there was a free bar, happy days. I caught the back end of the support band when I arrived and was a bit concerned that the front man only had one leg, fortunately it turned out this wasn’t the case, of their music, it sounded alright to me.
The first time I saw them and was taken by how bloody good they sounded as a band.
Tonight they sounded even better.
Before the main act came on Steve had a few tributes paid to him by his fellow fire fighters and union members. It was clear to see they had a lot of respect for him but if you know Steve, this would not come as a surprise. Then came the main attraction. The last time I saw Steve and the Protest Family was their final show before lockdown in March last year at The Birds Nest in Deptford, this was also the first time I saw them and was taken by how bloody good they sounded as a band, even with a bit of a shitty PA. Tonight they sounded even better.
The set was a mix of older material, new material and a golden oldie that goes back so far I even played on one the the many versions there are out there. The opener appears to be the standard opener as they started with it last time out, the a capella Hardworking. When I first heard this I thought it was a brave one to begin with, but in context with the rest of the set it works well and goes straight into Side Of The Fox, a ditty about the pointlessness of foxhunting (well that’s what I took from it without going into too much analysis). Keeping with the fox theme, the first newbie of the night Not That Fox, yes Lawrence Fox, an easy target for Steve to work on, and quite frankly a deserving target.
Since the last time I heard this, the Duke Of York has had a bit of a rough time of it
A couple of tunes about our glorious leader BoJo were next followed by one of the highlights of the gig, and one played last time, Air Miles Andy. Since the last time I heard this, the Duke Of York has had a bit of a rough time of it, and not even because of his overall pointlessness as a member of the Royal Family, no, as it is quire clear that he is a loathsome person who should do some jail time at his mother’s pleasure but clearly never ever will, he is a Prince after all. However I digress, if I was not mistaken the lyrics to this one had been updated.
Back in the 6 Of 8 days occasionally we would play this as an encore with Steve, but it never sounded as good as this
The first real old classic, and anybody who has been on a Sunshine Coach should know this song very well, was Brisbane Road. Back in the 6 Of 8 days occasionally we would play this as an encore with Steve, but it never sounded as good as this, and with a fair few O’s fans in attendance it was no surprise that this went down well. OK, so Tamika Mkandewire dates this song a bit, but who cares, this was definitely sing along of the night, and The Orienteer is still only a quid.
Song of the night for me was up next, Supersonic. I love the backing, it works for me, don’t know if this has been recorded, but for me this sounds like it would always work better live. Before you knew it the final song came, the closer last time out as well, God Save The Queen’s Speech. Can’t argue with that as she has a bloody enormous council house and it does need mentioning. No encore was played, but no matter, perhaps next time.
I really enjoyed the show, but what took it to another level from last time was the band sounded very tight and solid. Also, a mention in dispatches for Funky Lol’s fabulous guitar sound. I loved that scratchy high sound he had and thought it worked great with the sound of the band.
So, if you like a bit of satirical song writing performed very well indeed, you could do no worse than catching SW&TPF at a venue near you, if you happen to live North and East of the river, otherwise you may have a bit of a wait. Up the O’s
Setlist:
Hardwork
Side Of The Fox
Not That Fox
Have I Got News For You
A Statue Of Boris Johnson
Air Miles Andy
No Pasaran In E17
Have A Word
Should I Be Wearing A Mask?
Brisbane Road
Supersonic
Han Solo
The Gable
God Save The Queen’s Speech
Prince Charles
He still eats meat five days a week
And runs his car on cheese and wine,
Owns two hundred square miles of land
And several droves of rarest swine.
He’s waited on around the clock
On hand and foot and royal cock,
From royal shoe to royal sock
And royal boxer to royal jock.
He married the nation’s sweetheart
Then walked his mate’s wife up the aisle,
He was mates with Jimmy Savile
And his brother is a paedophile.
He still eats meat five days a week
And runs his car on cheese and wine,
Owns homes that thousands of others live in
And lets the rents just climb and climb.
He’s waited on around the clock
On hand and foot and royal cock,
By valets who express no shock
At some duties that most might knock.
His brother is a paedophile
His uncle even worse, it’s said.
He runs his car on cheese and wine;
Like all the rest, off with his head.
The Taliban Have Bought Melchester Rovers
It’s all going to change down at Mel Park;
They haven’t done the double since ’72.
Now next season’s home kit will be all black
And the players will all sport beards too.
‘Cos the Taliban have bought Melchester Rovers,
The Premier League said they’re fit and proper,
The fans trust that they’re guaranteed results,
Or Roy Race’s other foot might come a cropper.
Yes, the Taliban have bought Melchester Rovers,
“It’s not a sportswash,” a spokesperson said,
“To want legitimacy on primetime TV,
You could have had Sports Direct instead.”
Now some of the crowd are on the pitch,
Celebrating the arrival of their new owners,
‘Cos the Premier League said that they’re fit and proper
And the Taliban have bought Melchester Rovers.
It’s All Going Toilet Rolls
He’s on pump number two with a jerry can
He’s filled up the missus’ car and his work’s van
He’s not panic buying, he’s a hard-working man
A former bog roll billionaire
‘Cos it’s all going toilet rolls at Esso
And it’s all going toilet rolls at BP
“It’s bad, very bad,” says Hanna Hofer
They’re queuing down the A13
He’s on pump number two with a jerry can
And he’s got three full ones in the van
‘Cos last year’s lesson is this year’s plan
For a bog roll billionaire
And it’s all going toilet rolls at Tesco
It’s all going toilet rolls at Shell
“Carry on as normal,” says Grant Shapps
But he’s filling up his car as well
He’s on pump number two with a jerry can
Saying “It’s not Brexit, it’s Covid, man”
With the all the credibility of a sauna snowman
With the bog roll billionaires
‘Cos it’s all going toilet rolls in Westminster
It’s all going toilet rolls, upstairs
‘Cos a nation divided is a nation ruled
By bog roll billionaires
Carbon Dioxide
We breathe it out, plants breathe it in,
It’s the bubbles in your Tizer.
Carbon dioxide, CO2,
The uses might surprise ya,
Like suffocating pigs and chickens
Before the slaughterhouse knife,
Or modified atmosphere packaging
To make old leaves look nice.
Spaffer’s running out of gas,
Literally and metaphorically,
As Uncle Sam says “Sorry, my man,”
And we face a new fuel poverty.
Now he ain’t got the bubbles to push lager into glasses
Or the heating kind that comes from cows arses,
‘Cos the fertiliser factories get all funny
When they think they won’t make any money.
We breathe it out, plants breathe it in
It’s the bubbles in your Stella Artois
There used to be far too much of it
And campaigns to give up a touch of it
Now there ain’t even enough it,
It’s bizarre.
Steve White & The Protest Family 