Ten Tory Love Song

The-National-Miners-Strike

It was cold as you would would expect as the buggers queued up
and a few of them looked sick but I didn’t give a shit
battle the nerves you Conservative lot, your flag stiff with blood
a lost Guard under a rain sodden hood
a stiff upper lip, a forgotten showing slip, Blue rinsed forget-me-not
another fateful drop and they raised their eyes to the heavens
for the lack of Sun that day allowed them. I didn’t really care
as the cold rain ran off their matted hair and they promised everything
but we didn’t get a sniff, just a quiver of that Eton Ironed lip
They whimpered and cried to their God
The uncaring fucking sod. Shuffle those feet me little chums
off to the gallows and be brave, this is where Chelsea FC used to play
But they weren’t for turning not these lot as I wound the six turn grinner knot
Ten of them today and fresh from the court
Aligned to nobody and fat as we all thought.
Stop talking and face the Goal posts.
The Liars mantle
The delicious United Front
The liars and the takers all lined up to see
Smiling Hangman from the Midlands, Little old me
They offered me some cash to hang them up and watch them dance
I didn’t really want it you see. Put me hands in me pockets
‘Just pay me train fare and i’ll do it for fucking free’
But I knew me knots and had done it before
Hanging Tony Blair and his Missus in Oxford his feet tapping on the floor
They never laughed and neither did I, but I noticed he had shit himself
as I spit in his dead unseeing eye
and that was for me Grandad and me Nan you bastard
I didn’t say it was correct, didn’t say it was right
but ten dirty Tories are getting hung tonight
Line up you beautiful political elites, those softest hands
don’t look so sad as you shuffle those softest feet
listen to the proclamations from the Army lad from Hove Farm
who got blown up in a Land Rover and lost his leg and arm
In Iraq, you sent him over ill equipped
and he was shattered over the bottom line
the fucking delight tax cuts for shrapnel wounds
fingers in M.O.D pies, contracts and Knighthoods
a place on the board of Directors, expensive dinners, blazers
Oxford university hell raisers, Brandy sippers, God forbid
the Proles will never understand, but we did
eventually brought to task pulled away from the Brandy flask
for it was either die for their policies or unite and fight
and ten dirty Tories get hung tonight
don’t wring your rough tied hands and blather for freedom
which you fucking denied us
for the men that hold you tight tonight will not bear your release
for they have scarred their minds with years of splashing filthy cuts
that bore their families ill with fear, hunger
Remember Ian Bone when he leered and said ‘we will get ya’
and you were caught in a mini van trying to escape just outside of Leicester
dragged out and nearly lynched by good and simple people
brought down to the Courts for us to do our justice
suit wearers, coin counters, Bentley driving cunts
working class justice and video camera light
for ten fucking Tories are going to get hung tonight
Bless their fat little necks as they sobbed and pleaded their innocence
and I whispered in their ears
‘Holmes and Womersley, Green and Jones’
May God or whatever bless their simple bones
I may have tied the Prime Ministers noose a little bit tight
but fuck it, ten Tories are going to hang tonight

Destroyed Architecture

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Destroyed architecture Capitol of course once more sodden the glass of fire nuclear the pale lucky of course flourish of a dropping laser guided this and that’s would be vapourised my flag his flag wars are like magic fighter jets blood of war and massacre or the corpses juxtaposed demanded war final gag it’s all about the top hat arcing spluttering this or who my country your country fields were mushrooms jumble of atoms because of that or order to march across the sky popped and fizzed the punch line was paratroopers falling course was death or a secret pocket flung out on the wind this war happened hand hidden in the flames of nuclear exchange across the globe lots of it the end product of there and here fleeing from greedy fingers if not they sky like strange shock troops the joke was from the fumbled in with if they were global scale depths of a farting how or where smashing here and there

Dogging and BrianJonesTown are on the Radio

I was about to but I stopped
It was all about the cops
Febrile understanding exact opinions
The lack of understanding
You are looking thin again
And the last command is in
But I have to sign on if they let me through
Our ears stopped up with cotton
Sear the results love the forgotten
you know we change with the seasons
forget all the fucking reasons they gave us
we stand like useless cunts waving at the airships overhead
scrabble in the dust for water so we can bury our blasted dead
But the symphony never stops and I lay down at last
another cursed human another faded past
For the engines are quiet and she’s left her buttons undone
and the liars in the headlights shuffle their feet
the wet wipes like lost sheets
eyes lost but able hands to help
The bitch, she’s lost, beyond
the radio is on as she grabs to feel
Cold on her delicious arse the cold auto steel
Anton sings about having a plan
But we are all lost, it doesn’t really matter

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