Tuesday, 24 May 2016

Pig at the wheel


Written in the late nineteen eighties; I keep meaning to do an up to date version. Just need those damn car manufactures to come up with some decent names!  Still, I think it works well as a set of limerick style verses, whatever decade it's read in so.........

Pig at the wheel

Beware of the pig at the wheel
He's out for a laugh and a thrill
It's like an ambition
His personal mission
To injure to maim or kill

You never know where he'll be
Sometimes he drives a Capri
But he may well appear
In a Cavalier
Or Convertible XR3

In a flash he comes up from behind
With swift overtaking in mind
And his lights on full beam
He'll make you scream!
And go temporarily blind

He'll lie through his teeth without shame
In response to your accident claim
When his nose out too far
Ploughs into your car

He'll turn round and say you're to blame

With no signal for left or right
He's out there all day and all night
On a desperate quest
To be fastest and best
Cutting up every vehicle in sight

So remember to keep your eyes peeled
To avoid being injured or killed
If you want to survive
When your're out for a drive
Beware of the pig at the wheel

Kill the poor


Wrote this to one of Gilly's tunes around 1994: never did get to play it live. Another rant at the flag waving establishment: hopefully the content speaks for itself.

Part of the UKIP logic project.

Kill the poor

Throw the flags away
Why should you die to save?

When you know that you're despised
By the people that you praise
They just love to patronize you
With their condescending ways
Till you get so bitter and twisted
You don't know which way to turn
Still you look to them for guidance
When will you ever learn?

They starve a nation for a petty gain
And change the story to hide the pain
Their media pages advertise the lie
More provocation from the old school tie

Kill the poor
(Left them bleeding on the floor)
Kill the poor
Bullets fly, guns roar

All history changes
For convenient lies

Look at the soldiers in a grave yard
What exactly was it for?
The cause that got them slaughtered
In someone else's war?
"They died for today's freedom"  
That's what the leaders say
The leaders got their freedom
And they're taking yours away

They always tell you that it's for the best
But they're not the ones being put to the test
To make the ultimate sacrifice
And pay the biggest percentage of the price

Kill the poor
(Left them dying on the floor)
Kill the poor
Bullets fly, guns roar
From behind the scenes
They operate the puppet strings
Are you ready to die
For the patriotic lie?

In times of peace and war
They love to kill the poor

It's generated hatred
Fear making you blind
Embedded in your mind
Against your own kind

Kill the poor
It's been done many times before
You go over the wire
Into machine gun fire

To kill the poor
Kill the poor
Kill the poor

Wednesday, 18 May 2016

When was Britain great?


Cheers to Jonna for the second line. But mostly cheers to the guy who tried to force his Brexit opinions on me earlier today, thus turning my pen into a machine gun: fuck the sword.

UKIP logic part one:

When was Britain great?

Are you British are you proud
Is it in your D.N.A?
To sing “God save our gracious Queen”
And celebrate Saint George’s day?
“What’s wrong with that?” I hear you ask
But please don’t take it personally
I’ve got some questions of my own
And I was hoping you’d tell me

When was the last time Britain was great?
Was it back in eighty four?
When Thatcher took the miners on
And with their faces wiped the floor
And later sold our industries
Even the water that we drink
Our rail and our utilities
Everything but the kitchen sink?

When did Britannia rule the waves?
Was it in the seventies?
When Amin sent bananas in jest
To a land financially on its knees
The Pistols sang “God save the queen
No future no future no future for you”
And Jimmy Saville got away with rape
(Apparently Margaret Thatcher knew)

The nineteen sixties had great bands
The Beatles, The Kinks, The Stones, The Who
John Lennon sang “All you need is love”
And for a while it seemed
That at least was true
Would you rather remember rivers of blood?
Do you think Enoch had prophetic sight?
Have you read the speech
In great detail?
Do you tell it to your kids in bed at night?

Maybe Britain was great in world war two
The bulldog spirit can’t be denied
But didn’t Russia also play a part?
And what about the help
Roosevelt supplied?
And did the British people in Forty five
Really think it was Churchill who won the war?
If he was the greatest ever PM
What the fuck did he get voted out for?

Were things any better before that time
With poverty and debt never far away
Was the general strike of twenty six
A homage to the fairness of the British way?
I remember a story my nan used to tell:
Four older brother’s, lives barely begun
Diphtheria was rife, and whilst they slept
It paid them a visit, and killed each one

Was Britain great in the first world war
When countless youngsters lost their lives
Their sacrifices formalised in
letters sent to mothers and wives
And was it right and was it just
For fifteen year old boys to be
Put to death by firing squad
For running away from the enemy?

Was Britain great when the Titanic sank?
And the poor, being not much more than slaves
Watched as the lifeboats rowed away
As they froze to death in their icy graves
Throughout British history it seems to me
That greatness was something enjoyed by few
For everyone else life was dark and grim
Is that where you want to go back to?

Are you British are you proud
Is it in your D.N.A?
To sing “God save our gracious queen”
And celebrate Saint George’s day?
Is this, your land of hope and glory
A shining example to human kind?
You say you want to make it great again
But it never really was
Except for in your mind
























Saturday, 14 May 2016

Pissing blood



Pissing blood

Some people
Prefer to piss
With their eyes closed
Or with the lights out
Because after all
What they can’t see
Can’t hurt them
And though it’s often said
That happiness
And sadness
Are ephemeral illusions
And are like two sides
Of the same coin
Or two parallel lines
Sandwiching the truth
They are mostly happy
Not knowing
And they try not to think
About the thief
That comes in the night
To grab the unsuspecting
As they go on living
With their heads
Buried
In the sand