Bounty

 

Bounty

Mars removing Bounty

From its Celebrations

Received from every county

Indignant condemnations

For coconut and chocolate

Covered mini bars

Are the nation’s favourite

O’er Milky Way and Mars

Galaxy Maltesers

Snickers we accept

Why then choose to tease us

With Bounty bar reject?

Ah but it was all a trick

A stunt for advertisement

Mars had never planned to stick

With Bounty’s bar’s retirement

Bounty is the best by far

Its loss was bound to hurt us

What a clever bunch they are

Those marketing researchers

Incel

 

Incel

An angry Misogynist celibate

Whose ego was puffed up and delicate

Discovered a crowd

Like-minded and proud

And now he’s a right-wing degenerate

My Desperation

 

My desperation

 

People’s lives are going down

Talking about my desperation

Too much poverty in this town

Talking about my desperation

The NHS looks about to fold

Talking about my desperation

I hope I die before it gets sold

Talking about my desperation

My desperation

My desperation baby

 

The workers’ rights fade away

Talking about my desperation

Zero hour jobs are here to stay

Talking about my desperation

Cuts to, health and education

Talking about my desperation

Tax breaks for every corporation  

Talking about my desperation

My desperation

My desperation baby

 

 

 

The monkey the cork and the elephant

The monkey the cork and the elephant

A cork in a strange experiment

Was placed in the arse of an elephant

For scientists to view

A year’s worth of poo

And document figures of measurement

A monkey they trained intensively

To climb up a ladder repeatedly

And pull out a stop

On reaching the top

From whence it descended immediately

The pachyderm with a full tummy

And cork wedged tight in his bummy

Was after a year

Led out to appear

In place of the elephant dummy

The monkey with no hesitation

Ascended toward the rear station

And pulled with all might

Till gallons of shite

Came gushing beyond contemplation

The scientists there gathered were covered

The shortest among them were smothered

The elephant heaved

Quite simply relieved

But the cork-puller never recovered

They saw him remove and embrace it

And desperately try to replace it

But the bowels once moved

The exercise proved

A suicide mission let’s face it

Call My Bluff

Call My Bluff

Zelensky’s bane

Went into Ukraine

Threatened the pain

Of nuclear rain

The going got tough

They called his bluff

He huffed and puffed

And we were stuffed

He huffed and puffed

And blew us all down

And every house

In every town

And city was pounded

Into a mound

And the bunkerbound

Went underground

The King's Peace

 

The King’s Peace

 

For a designated time,

Your exercise of speech,

However free, may lead to crime,

If Charles’s peace you breach,

And if you’re brandishing a sign,

On which there’s nothing written,

Be wary, lest you cross the line,

Of masses, royally smitten.

 

For on that sign you may well write,

“Charles is not my king”,

Triggering the righteous spite,

Of those his praises sing;

So claimed a policeman, pulling rank,

Threatening with ejection,

The bearer of the placard blank,

All for his, “Own protection”.

 

The placard bearer quietly left,

His viewpoint yet unspoken,

And with his sign of words bereft,

The peace remained unbroken,

The coffin, royal standard’ draped,

Down the Mall was driven,

And no dissenting word escaped;

No tolerance was given. 

Again and again

 Again and again

Is anything sadder than working class

Tory Voters, oblivious to pain,

Time after time, getting kicked in the arse,

Yet voting Tory, again and again,

As towns and cities, already run down,

Are earmarked for more public-service cuts,

By those replacing the blustering clown,

With leadership pledges, even more nuts,

Than the obvious lies that came before,

Like the north south levelling-up address,

An EU deal that won’t leave us all poor,

And millions more £££s for the NHS;

Conservative tosh, going up in smoke,

And working class Tories blame it on “Woke”.

Hit and Run

    Hit and Run

Knife, machete, bottle, gun,

Blood and glass along the path,

Wall of silence, drug deal done.

Reckless drivers hit and run,

Random hearts get cut in half,

Knife, machete, bottle, gun.

A boy shot somebody’s son,

Rode away and had a laugh,

Wall of silence, drug deal done.

In memory of a little one,

Flowers, around a photograph,

Knife, machete, bottle, gun.

The police call, the neighbours shun;

Name the culprit? Don’t be daft!

Wall of silence, drug deal done.

Cheeky, cheerful, joyful, fun,

Too young for an epitaph,

Knife, machete, bottle, gun,

Wall of silence, drug deal done.

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The Party House Diaries

 

The Party House Diaries

 

Unruly man boys making lots of noise,

Shouting and laughing; they kept me awake,

With monotonous beats, rowdy oi ois;

I lay abed waiting for things to break.

 

4 a.m. I couldn’t get back to sleep;

"Just shut the fuck up", a woman’s voice cried;

I got up, pulled back the blinds, had a peep,

Saw people in hoodies standing outside.

 

Somebody shouted, I couldn’t see who,

I wondered, was he yelling at me?

Night was lit up by lights of flashing blue;

Went downstairs at dawn made a cuppa tea,

 

Took it upstairs, clambered back into bed,

Not before shutting the open fanlight;

I tried to read, but kept dozing instead;

It'll be kicking off again tonight.

 

Mid-day Monday: it’s presently quiet;

All the tenants must be sleeping sound;

Last night sounded like a prison riot,

Without any prison officers around.

 

"Be careful sir", I was told by the law,

"There’re some dangerous people in there";

No supervision, no one’s keeping score,

Emailing the council gets you nowhere.

 

There’s a landlord lives many miles away;

A greedy profiteering millionaire;

As long as he receives his monthly pay,

He doesn’t give a toss about aftercare.

 

I don’t wanna judge, but I feel let down;

This used to be a decent neighbourhood,

Now it’s becoming the rough end of town,

A meeting place for the up to no good.

 

The ruckus carries on all through the week,

And the weeks after; they bawl and they shout

Night after night, and it comes to a peak

At 5 a.m. when the rage has burnt out.

 

And I think, as they finish their carouse:

A halfway house with no overseer,

Is really no more than a party house;

There’ll be no rehabilitation here.

Tories Backing Down (by Thick Lizzy)

Tories backing down (by Thick Lizzy)

Rishi Sunak fled today

Penny Mordaunt’s gone away

Liz Truss had much to say

But man all she said was crazy

They were asking is Rees Mogg around

How he was where he could be found

I told them he was lying down

That old pencil sure is lazy

Tories backing down

Tories Backing down

(I said) Tories backing down

Tories backing down

Tories backing down

Tories backing down

Tories backing down

You know that dick that used to lie a lot

Every day he’d be blustering with all his rot

Man if this was China he would be shot

I mean he was scheming

And each night over at Johnson’s place

An Eton Tory boy was getting off his face

Pincher turned out to be a sex case

Javid wrote a resignation letter

Tories backing down

Tories Backing down

(I said) Tories backing down

Tories backing down

Tories backing down

Tories backing down

Tories backing down

Spread the word around

Penny’s backing down

Just spread the word around

Friday night they all tried to thrill

Krishnan Guru-Murthy’s grill

Truss was scared of Andrew Neil

But if the plebs wanna vote we better let ‘em

Yeah Kwasi's in a corner singing out that same old song

The pound's getting shorter it won’t be long

Won’t be long till Starmer comes

Now Blair the 2nd’s here again

Tories backing down

Tories Backing down

Tories backing down

Tories backing down

Tories backing down

Tories backing down

Tories backing down

Tories backing down

Tories Backing down

Tories backing down spread the word around

Tories backing down

Tories backing down

Tories backing down

Tories backing down

Eating cake and drinking vino

Tories backing down again

Joe Blot

 

 

Joe Blot

 

Joe Blot, on the face of it, had it all:

Family, wealth, popularity, fame;

But sure as the mighty are bound to fall,

Misfortune, in mass battalions came,

And took all away, as if by design;

His house, his money, his children, his wife;

Relentlessly trashing everything fine,

Vindictively stabbing, twisting the knife;

Plundering stuff that makes life worth living;

Finally, even his health declined too;

Cancer, malignant and unforgiving,

Poisoned and spread till his organs were through,

And he died a tramp, barely recorded,

A hapless Job, yet far less rewarded.

Greed is Good

"Greed is Good"

A glutton at each opportunity

Lawfully steals with impunity

Fills up a trough

With a snort and a scoff

And basks in entitled immunity

No Poetry in Death

No poetry in death

I’ll find no poetry in death, I fear;

When I’m comatose in a hospice bed,

My life’s termination finally here,

I doubt any verse will enter my head;

No; I suspect I’ll be pumped full of drugs,

Intended to keep the anguish at bay;

My organs yielding to cancerous bugs,

My bones wrapped in skin of deathly pale-grey;

I’ll be sleeping, oblivious to all:

The doctors, nurses, my children, my wife,

And even deaths’ irresistible call,

Beckoning me to the end of my life,

Whereat, upon drawing a final breath,

I’ll find, I fear, no poetry in death

Ellen Ripley

 

Girl power!

Ellen Ripley

Ah look at all the morph eggs people

Ah look at all the morph eggs people

Ellen Ripley

Stares at a screen

After Mother who picked up a scream

Ended her dream

Dallas and Lambert

Carrying Kane with a clam on his face

Through the door

What is it for?

All the morph eggs people

Where do they all come from?

All the morph eggs people

Where do they all belong?

Kane in a frenzy

Writhes on a bed

As an alien bursts from his chest

Spoiling his vest

Lambert Brett Parker

And Dallas the alien’s killed

Ash the company droid

Ripley’s destroyed

All the morph eggs people

Where do they all come from?

All the morph eggs people

Where do they all belong?

Ah look at all the morph eggs people

Ah look at all the morph eggs people

Ellen Ripley

Runs to the shuttle

Escaping with Jonesy the cat

But that isn’t that

Opens an airlock

Sucking the alien inches away

From her face

Out into space

All the morph eggs people

Where do they all come from?

All the morph eggs people

Where do they all belong?

The Hangman

The Hangman

A hangman gave a grand address

Some fearful people heard

With ever growing eagerness

They hung on every word

His speeches through the airwaves flew

More followers adhered

And sucked in by his point of view

They easily were steered

To voting booths on polling day

Wherein their droves they came

To place a vote the hangman’s way

A cross against his name

A landslide on the news declared

The hangman’s voters roared

Most joyous with how well he’d fared

This leader they adored

And all his foes were made to feel

The lashings of free speech

The unrestricted barbs of steel

That he was wont to preach

And soon the law was even more

In favour of his spite

The settlement of every score

Became a legal right

Hence upon opponents now

The hangman’s henchmen fell

And many who refused to bow

Received a dreadful knell

A knock upon the door at night

A waiting van outside

No legal aid nor human right

Just handcuffs for the ride

A gallows stand for those arraigned

His foes were led unto

And on the hangman’s word they hanged

As mockers cried adieu

But he was never satisfied

More laws were passed with ease

Some mockers soon themselves were tried

Beside their families

Increasing numbers went to trial

Deemed traitors fit to die

The hangman preaching all the while

And many years went by

Till finally his foes had gone

All disappeared or dead

Now old and tired he’s hanging on

Albeit by a thread

And if he gives a grand address

These days he’s rarely heard

His clarity seems less and less

His leadership absurd

Restrictions ever more increased

The plebs have lost their vote

Democracy now long deceased

The rich and powerful gloat

As jealous heirs behind the scenes

Standby impatiently

Descendants all but kings and queens

The hangman’s dynasty

Poxy Monkey Buisness

Poxy Monkey Business

 

 

Chimp chimpanzee chimp chimpanzee

Good afternoon

Howler orangutan

Mandrill baboon

Chimp chimpanzee chimp chimpanzee

What will it be

Emperor tamarin 

Spider monkey

 

Gibbon gelada

Or white-faced saki?

 

 

Drop Zone

Drop zone

Chronic pain in a private place

Overnight mole sallow face

Muscle wastage brittle bone

I’m in the drop zone

To the great unknown

Overtired broken sleep

Tossing turning and I keep

Getting up to take a pee

Often very painfully

In the morning I’m depressed

What’s the point in getting dressed?

All I do is moan and groan

I’m in the drop zone

Leave me alone

Over anxious tired confused

Read the paper watch the news

Chronic pain won’t go away

Worse than it was yesterday

Google searches amplify

The symptoms am I gonna die?

Ring a doctor join a queue

Cursing waiting can’t get through

Then reception finally

Telling me that the GP

Can only talk to me by phone

I’m in the drop zone

Anxiety prone

MRI PSA

Hope the biopsy’s okay

Hourly sitting on the throne

Such is life in the drop zone

Where anuses are sore with piles

Walking yards can feel like miles

Chest pains are emergencies

Tumours malignancies

Ever wonder to yourself

Why you rarely give your health

More priority than wealth?

Sickness creeping up with stealth

Thinking of a hospice bed

Will you miss me when I’m dead?

Hopefully there’ll be no need

For ages yet to come and read

The epitaph on my headstone

Borrowed time is nearly blown

What I need’s another loan

I’m in the drop zone

I wanna postpone

Book

 

Book

Hopes and dreams

Rarely turn out true

There’s a book in me

And a book in you

But the words in mind

Don’t make the page

So we go to work

In silent rage

Yeah we go to work

In the Cenozoic age

Where mediocrity’s

Centre stage

The Politics Of Envy

The politics of envy

The Bullingdon Boys of Eton

After having eaten

Came across a beggar in the park

To whom a scion shifty

Bared a note of fifty

And burned it down to ashes for a lark

They walked away with laughter

The beggar died soon after

The scion with a wealthy guarantee

Had an Oxford education

And after graduation

Turned Conservative celebrity

The Oxford classics reader

Became a Tory leader

In towns and cities very much in vogue

All youthful antics rotten

Dismissed or long forgotten

The country voted in the charming rogue

And now the population

Is told of high inflation

Warned of punitive austerity

As scions burn their millions

And the ever-poorer minions

Toil for Eton’s sons’ prosperity

The Fool's Last Words

 

The Fool’s Last Words

Unable to pay the bills to keep warm,

A cold old lady sat in a bus seat,

Gazing outside at the wintery storm,

As fellow-passengers gave off free heat.

Sitting nearby, a fool, of middle-age,

Relished the warmth, being broke and cold too;

He perused The Mail, and thought it was sage,

For he was of a Conservative hue.

Indeed, he was using the bus this day,

To go to the polling station, where he

Intended to vote his usual way,

Not knowing he needed photo ID,

Of which he had sadly nothing at all

To show that day at the local church hall.

And so the fool, thus unable to vote,

Sat on the bus home staring at the rain;

He, having just spent his very last note,

Felt frozen, weary and hungry again.

Redundancy pay was fast running out,

Jobseekers allowance; blood from a stone,

And, there being nobody else about,

But the cold old lady, tired and alone,

Who daily travels on the bus for free,

He told her his tale, attributing blame

To snowflake lefties; who else could it be?

He raged till the bus to his rented flat came;

“And I’ll go to bed at noon”, so he said,

And he died there, bitter, cold and unfed.

 

Bye Bye Black Sheep

 

Bye Bye Black Sheep

Scared and suspicious of little Bo Peep,

A young black ram from the farm ran away,

Found he a flock of rare and rescued sheep,

And there in contentment was able to stay.

Visitors came, and with their children fed

The runaway ram with delicious feed,

The children stroked him and patted his head,

And by the staff, he was well-loved indeed.

After a lifetime of bountiful care,

He reached an old age and peacefully died;

They roasted his meat of very tough fare,

And fashioned a warm coat out of his hide;

Such was his fate on fleeing Peep’s daughter,

Who, wide awake, drove her lambs to slaughter.