A Merry Dance

First published June 2016 – the football got better, nothing much else has.

We cocked up the Brexit vote, 

we cocked up at football

All we want’s another beer 

and tuppence in the bureau.

 

Their face is painted red and white, 

Their shirts are made of nylon,

They drape themselves in England flags, 

sing like their a moron.

 

It’s no go the muddied oafs

England beat by Iceland.

Tears run down the English face

We slink back to our Island.

 

David Cameron he messed up, 

He hid behind the sofa

Boris Johnson made a face; 

he hit him with the poker.

Feel a pain between your ribs

Maybe you’re in Labour?

Mister Corbyn all alone

Beggared by his neighbour.

 

Cock a snook at clever folk

Don’t believe in experts

We’d rather read the Daily Mail

And sneer at cocky Herberts.

No time for city types

No time for cockneys

Cheered up the northern folk

To kick them in the Hockneys.

 

It’s three cheers from Scottish throats

It’s three cheers for Sturgeon!

England is a basket case

So send out for a surgeon.

Grandad is a bogey man

Gave away our future.

Patch it up with sticky tape

Or mend it with a suture.

 

It’s goodbye the Polski sklep.

Goodbye to summer.

The country’s going round the bend

But where’s the Polish plumber?

It’s no go the NHS

The promises mistaken.

All the nurses on a boat

And all the money’s taken.

 

It’s no go my dear true love, 

it’s no go my  poppet,

Work your hands from day to day, 

the winds will blow the profit.

The glass is falling hour by hour, 

the glass will fall forever,

But if you break the bloody glass 

you won’t hold up the weather.

 

Last verse and inspiration for this piece, Louis MacNeice, Bagpipe Music, 1938.

Hurrah for Little England

From an original version published on the eve of the Brexit vote.

 

Hurrah for Little England

She cast herself adrift

Say goodbye to Brussels

We’ll head into the mist.

 

Don’t know where we’re going

The captain’s overboard

But we won’t be ruled by foreigners

Or people from abroad.

 

We’ll resurrect our Empire

They’ll surely want us back

So it’s goodbye to the future

We’re turning back the clock.

 

No need for foreign factories

No need for all those jobs

For life will just be perfect

With all the foreigners gone.

 

We’ll reclaim all our colonies

Take America back;

Canada and New Zealand

They’ll surely all want that?

 

Goodbye foreign subsidy

That’s not what we need

Londoners will pay for us

Let’s let London bleed.

 

Goodbye banks and bankers

We don’t need city jobs

Life will just be perfect

When Britain’s on its tod.

 

It really should be easy

Why the awful fuss?

Those beastly Europeans

Make it hard for us.

 

It’s really not your business

We won’t obey your rules.

Why do you think as customers

You have the right to choose?