Your mum, your dad, your aunt, your nan,
The man who drives the Yodel van,
Your uncle Bob and his mate, Stan
And Hassan who’s from Pakistan
Are banned
You understand?
That gatherings of your loved ones
Are limited to six persons
The seventh and eighth don’t get to come
Unless they’re carrying a gun
So, Hassan who’s from Pakistan
Your uncle Bob and his mate, Stan
The man who drives the Yodel van
Your mum, your dad, your aunt and your nan
Are all off to a grouse shoot, man.
Tag: writing
Tofu Bats and Tofu Pangolins
No, I don’t believe in god she says
But I do believe in pestilence and plague
You’ve just got to look around these days
To see this shit’s man-made
There ain’t much left round here that Jesus could save
Not while the boom bust cycle of suffer and recover
Is long on the suffer and short on recover
And the government is just a machine
To turn public money into private greed
Disaster capital’s here to stay, it seems
And I don’t bang on about the furry little fuckers
But here’s where I get my angle in
‘Cos no one ever made themselves sick
Eating tofu bats
And tofu pangolins
No, I don’t believe in god she says
‘Cos I don’t understand a Tory who prays
Then goes to work to be the best he can
At the very expense of his fellow man
Clapping for the NHS on his Facebook page
While the boom bust cycle of suffer and recover
Is strong on the suffer and weak on the recover
And the government is just a means
Of giving the public purse a squeeze
Into offshore tax-free banking schemes
And I don’t bang on about the furry little fuckers
But here’s where I get my angle in
‘Cos no one ever made themselves ill
Eating tofu bats
And tofu pangolins
Operation Moonshot
Is Operation Moonshot
The best that you’ve got?
Chucking in our lot
With a punt on a long shot?
Astronaut Spaffer, it has to be said
Is comfortable speaking out the back of his head
But a 20-minute test when you get out of bed
Sounds like he’s just bet it all on red
Is Operation Moonshot
The best that you’ve got?
Chucking in our lot
With a punt on a long shot?
Cosmonaut Spaffer of the rule of six
Reckons he’s got a long-term fix
A quick test between toothpaste and lacing up your kicks
Trouble is it doesn’t yet exist
Is Operation Moonshot
The best that you’ve got?
Chucking in our lot
With a punt on a long shot?
Starfleet Spaffer’s new COVID marshal
Badge and gun, pledge to be impartial
Breaking up a seven-plus party in your local
Doing it for free, there’s no money on the table
Is Operation Moonshot
The best that you’ve got?
Chucking in our lot
With a punt on a long shot?
Spaceman Spaffer’s shooting for the moon
Spit in the pot, you’ll know pretty soon
If you’re going back to work or back to your room
Are we watching a PM or a cartoon?
Is Operation Moonshot
The best that you’ve got?
Chucking in our lot
With a punt on a long shot?
The Under 21s
You’ve relaxed too much says Van Tam
Relax, go back to work says that Johnson man
Is it any wonder you’re confused?
Does anyone understand all the rules?
Stick to your guns
Blame the under 21’s
A harder, faster lockdown in Bolton
Let’s hope the locals don’t get their revolt on
Don’t let the subject pass their eyes
That the response is still too centralised
Stick to your guns
Blame the under 21’s
It’s the uni crowd the way they carry on and party
You know that term ain’t actually started
But the numbers from the test and trace don’t lie
Who do you think’s in the service industry front line?
Stick to your guns
Blame the under 21’s
They’re better than us without even trying
They know when politicians are lying
The mess of the world, they understand it
Just as we’re about to underhand it
So when election time comes
Remember who you blamed: the under 21’s
Has Hancock Lost Control?
Lyrics (sort of) here.
Ferrari’s Furlough Fraudsters
He’s dog-whistling up the news
The favourite sport of the populist columnist
From The Currant Bun to The News of the Screws
The chance to scapegoat’s rarely missed
So, ring the show, grass up your neighbours
Hold fast the fruits of your own labours
Pull up the ladder, lock up your daughters
Here come Ferrari’s Furlough Fraudsters
Untitled (7th September 2020)
If you want one of our world-beating tests
Then mate, you’d better have access to a car
While Hancock’s still spouting they’re the best
I’ll tell ya, you’re gonna have to travel far
My mate in north London got Leicester
A fella in Manchester got Dundee
At least my mate went to his (200-mile round trip)
Manchester’s waiting for a better slot to be released
You could, of course, go postal
Wait for the swab kit to hit your mat
There’s limited numbers of those, mind you
So, y’know, good luck with that
The expert said that he’s alarmed
3000 cases and the graph’s contour
The health secretary remained calm
Says work and school is COVID secure (yeah, right)
A busy pub with a Perspex screen
The floor stickers wearing thin (and pretty much ignored)
You can’t mask up when you eat and drink
What’s gonna happen d’you think?
A Man With a Fascist Flag
The anti-mask brigade
Were far too easily swayed
By conspiracy theorists
And it’s not real it’s
Just Government lies
And surprise, surprise
A man with a fascist flag
The anti-mask brigade
In Trafalgar Square today
Chanting the virus is a hoax
And laughing at David Icke’s jokes
Were joined by QAnon memes
And alt-right, far right themes
And a man with a fascist flag
The flag that we tore down at Cable Street
That we fought from ’39 to ’45 to defeat
From the International Brigades
We’ll fight to the present day
When we see a man with a fascist flag
The anti-mask brigade
See their freedom ebbing away
Freedom to catch the virus
Freedom to pass it to us
Freedom to believe a lie
Freedom to turn a blind eye
To the man with the fascist flag
The flag that we tore down at Cable Street
That we fought from ’39 to ’45 to defeat
From the International Brigades
We’ll fight to the present day
When we see a man with a fascist flag
The anti-mask brigade
Took Trafalgar Square today
Sanity over madness they spew
While the converse appears true
Joined by anti-Semitic conspiracies
And bad information about the disease
And a man with a fascist flag
The flag that we tore down at Cable Street
That we fought from ’39 to ’45 to defeat
From the International Brigades
We’ll fight to the present day
When we see a man with a fascist flag
They Is
They is.
They is, the talking point.
They is, the grammatical counterpoint.
They is finding a voice for themself
In a language of such wealth
Of turn of phrase, of evocation
Of the tapestry of an evolving nation.
So it’s sad when some would influence
Opinion of the form’s mellifluence
While they is struggling to identify
The difference between living and getting by
Because surely everybody knows
That language lives, adapts and grows.
It’s less transphobic, admittedly
Than mere linguistic pendantry
But if for you they is a step too far
Then they is still comfortable with they are.
Local Lockdowns, Part One
Go back to your northern powerhouse homes
Unless you are going to the pub, which you should visit alone,
Or work, which you must not shirk.
No visiting family or friends
Unless, we guess, you work with them
But we say again:
No socialising in houses or gardens
No if’s or but’s or beg your pardon’s,
But if you’re one of the shielding folk
Your rights to help have been revoked
And you should come out, your race is run,
Just try not to come into contact with anyone.
Because Hancock, a politician
At home with confusion and contradiction
Accuses you of a lack of compliance
With his social distancing guidance
And has identified some high-risk zones
So go back to your northern powerhouse homes.
Steve White & The Protest Family 