I thought, given the proximity of the local government elections in the UK, I would give this quasi political piece an airing...

The following poem contains one use of strong language. The Plymouth Daily welcomes a range of views and opinions.

‘On the Hustings..’

“We’re all in this chaps together”,
barefaced in their Eton plummies;
Scratching at a well spanked nether,
swearing on their sainted mummies:
Old school ties all dingle dangle,
Harris Tweeds with rich boy pockets;
On the soap box jingle jangle,
full of sham expenses dockets:
Dumb boys, mum's boys, we’re all chum's boys,
handmade shoes all bright and shiny;
Peeping out from dog bed cord’roys,
bagged and sagged and church pew whiny.

Charming, smarming, snake oil peddlers,
hawking up their manifestos;
Poke nose, who knows, mason meddlers,
like magicians, all hey prestos!
One term, all squirm, rich boy’s piggy,
both hands in the public purses;
Poor get poorer what’s the biggie?
Put your ‘pensh pot’ into hearses!
Conjured policies by cheapskates,
my back, your back, scratch and scratcher;
Social models bought at mates’ rates,
ten pence on the pound from Thatcher.

Listen to the old folk wheezing,
gas and fuel oil not for burning;
Two up two down damp and freezing,
but ‘The Lady’s not for turning!’
Same slick weasels, different faces,
fill the well sprung Commons’ benches;
Sons and heirs of Lords and Graces,
who sent grandad to the trenches:
Fat chaps, frat chaps, chinless prat chaps,
silver spoons in sherry trifles;
Hacking in their silk lined flat caps,
worlds away from Afghan rifles.

Send the TA to the front line,
full time soldiers all redundant;
Put the widows on the bread line,
rake in profits more abundant:
No more rises, shift the onus,
for the growing budget shortfall;
Pay the banker thieves their bonus,
give the working classes sod all!
Grey suits, pray suits, trump your ace suits,
squatting on the workers’ shoulders;
Health care, welfare, don’t give two hoots,
long as they get all the folders!

Bottom lines for business cronies,
policies for lining coffers;
Work the prols like coal hole ponies,
crush their kids to cloth cap doffers:
Ease the flow of foreign labour,
make a fortune hire a ‘Euro’;
Pay ‘em nowt and fuck your neighbour,
screen ‘em from the politburo!
MP’s, JP’s, AC/DC’s,
bred to be the ruling classes;
made nowt, done nowt, been nowt, worth nowt,
born to rule the unwashed masses.

You don’t want a referendum,
‘suits us sir’... So you can bike it!”
Make the laws to twist ‘n bend ‘em,
Brussels rules so lump or like it:
Join the Euro if it pleases,
nanny always knows what’s best dear;
Smirk as each last cent it squeezes,
for some faceless Euro fakir!!
Big gang, gang bang, old school boys’ club,
strut and rut like workshy Neros;
Sluice the blood off in the washtub,
of this land once fit for heroes...

From the forthcoming collection 'Bronze Bell Jack..'