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The Cry of the Thwarted Bigot

enoch

I’ve been fighting this shit for 20 odd years –
helping dispell the myths in the fear
you try to spread with your hate and lies,
so why is it that I’m still so surprised
that your anger is so misdirected?
The love of your own so neglected?
Take that horizontal shitty stick and
point it to the sky and take the hand
of your fellow working man –
be them white or black or Asian.
Divide and rule
forever making a profitable fool
out of the mass of mother nature’s creation..

Who d’you think creates these wars?
Your local shopkeeper or the old dear next door?
Cleaners? Cabbies? Call centre staff?
Builders? Dole scum? Don’t make me laugh..
Your anger is so misdirected.
The love of your own so neglected.
Take that horizontal, blinkered view and
look to the sky and take the hand
of your fellow human sat at the same table –
be them doing alright, unemployed or disabled.
Destroy their rule
and the games they play to fool
us into buying divisive labels..

All I hear is the cry of the thwarted bigot.
The BNP’s dead
so vote UKIP instead.
A white man dies
and you have blood in your eyes.
A mosque burns down
but that’s ok somehow.
A mother cries
as her 12 year old son dies –
shot by ‘our brave soldiers” hands
but it’s not in your TV land
so you say it’s lies
so you can justify
the hate from fear
that you hold so dear
but all I hear
is the cry of the thwarted bigot..

Who d’you think creates these wars?
Your local shopkeeper or the old dear next door?
Cleaners? Cabbies? Call centre staff?
Builders? Dole scum? Don’t make me laugh..
That your anger is so misdirected.
The love of your own so neglected.
Take that horizontal shitty stick and
point it to the sky and take the hand
of your fellow working man
be them white or black or Asian.
Divide and rule
forever making a profitable fool
out of the mass of mother nature’s creation..

All I hear is the cry of the thwarted bigot.
Enoch Powell wasn’t right –
Enoch Powell was far right.
The only rivers of blood
are cut from above.
Divide and rule
forever making a fool
out of the common man
given flames to fan
in the wrong direction
under the guise of protection.
But you say it’s lies
so you can justify
the hate from fear
that you hold so dear
but all I hear
is the cry of the thwarted bigot..


Dear Riot Copper

It’s the end of an eventful day and I’m in Trafalgar Square.
People dancing, fires burning, solidarity in the air.
It’s peaceful and it’s beautiful and then out of nowhere
come your shields and batons making walls around some of us there.
As you close in violently, we’re chanting ‘It’s your jobs, too!’
But your job here ain’t to listen. It’s to bully and subdue.
Your glowing wall is now three deep. There is no breaking through
and I’ve lost my friends, I’ve got the fear and don’t know what to do.
Then an overzealous protester throws a barrier your way.
It hits me on the head and knocks me down and then you say
‘Well, you shouldn’t be here anyway
and we’re gonna nick you for public disorder and affray.’
I ask you for some water, or a medic or to get out.
You seize the opportunity to give me another clout.
Do you even know what this protest is about?
Forgive me as you hit me if I start to scream and shout
about what you’re protecting – property and profiteers.
You hide behind that uniform to shield you from your fears.
You can gas me in the face, but you will never have my tears.
I reserve them for my children and their future years.
I was brought up to believe that if you need help ask a copper.
Just like democracy, you’ve helped kill that myth good and proper!
You look at me with empty eyes. ‘C’mon boys, let’s drop her.
She’s getting in the way of our spectacular show-stopper.’
Someone picks me up and tries to help me climb
up onto the statues, telling me that I’ll be fine,
but I need to piss, so I crouch down right in front of your line.
Victory? Not really, but it felt good at the time.
I’m dizzy and my head is pounding. My vision is now blurred.
but still my pleas to you for help remain unheard.
Then I find a woman among you, and though my speech is slurred
she listens and she looks and says that she will have a word.
The copper overhearing next to her couldn’t resist
another shield clip, but with the second one he missed
as I lost my balance. ‘Is she alright?’ ‘Ah, she’s just pissed.’
Then someone from the back line grabs me and I’m whisked
through your three deep kettle and out the other side.
‘Keep walking’ he says. ‘Don’t come back.’ ‘No worries!’ I reply.
I stagger out and put my hands over my face to hide
from the cameras pointing at me. Then I crumple. Then I cry.
I protest peacefully, that day included, so you know.
I have post-concussion syndrome and recovery is slow.
I’ve never felt so frightened, so impotent and small, though
my fight is for my children, and with them it will grow.

The Odd Dodgy Shag

So you go out to get spangled

and end up getting mangled

Dance the night away and pull some bloke

You wake up the next day with him

with a memory that’s way too dim

and you regret it, so it’s rape

Is that a joke??!!

Ok, so there are a few predatory types

who are out to fill up a bed for the night

Sipping on coke and watching for the wobble and high

but most are out for the same craic as you

so if he’s off his head when you lead him to your bed

does that make you a rapist, too??!!

I first heard cries of ‘rape culture’

from the ‘I must have a cause’ vultures

They must be so proud of their creation

Shame they can’t make up their minds

It’s either ‘rape is rape’ or there’s different kinds

though drunken sex won’t ever warrant that definition.

 Most of us have had the odd dodgy shag

and bitched about the whole stud versus slag

but unless you’re spiked, you’re responsible for what you stick in your face

Education needs to work both ways

so drop ‘all men are bad (except for the gays)’

and stop insulting those who really have been raped!


Status

Status isn’t real

and basing everything you feel

on what the neighbours see is mental

Everything you seek to be

in residential harmony is fake

down to the Waitrose on your plate

and the stain upon your fence

but still your brain does not relent

from telling you that this stuff matters

but you yourself are just the tatters

of a child who once did dream

of more than tableware and finest cream

upon the tart

designed to fire a jealous heart

and bitter compliment

and feed a charged resentment..

deliberate with its intent.

I get the love to hate game

but you have to draw a frame

around it

Keep the boundaries clear cut

and know your chosen target

but make it mean something

and match the colour of your dreams

or let them be forever green

and meaningless –

never real or keen for less

than spoonfed motivation

from some embroidered, framed quotation

sitting on your wall that’s newly

decorated with up-to-the-minute truly

not you gone tomorrow chic

to mither cliques

that either judge you

or begrudge you.


Silent Screams

Maybe it’s time for lying

Dunno if it’s in me..

No more time for crying

Dunno if it’s in me..

Need more time for flying

Want that to be in me..

Feel like something’s dying

That for sure is in me.

If I stay here rot is setting in

Feeding up and ravishing

Silent screams for me begin

to block out everything..

Direction lost and eyes are blind

Body tired and my face lined

Why the hell can I not find

where I need to begin?

I know it’s time for breathing

Cannot find it in me..

I maybe should be leaving

Dunno if it’s in me..

A twisted web I’m weaving

Why the hell’s it in me?

Cannot shake the grieving

Now that for sure is in me.

I know the rot is setting in

Feeding up and ravishing

Silent screams for me begin

to block out everything..

Direction lost and eyes are blind

Body tired and my face lined

Why the hell can I not find

where I need to begin?

Why don’t you help me out here?

Dunno if it’s in you?

No more time left for this fear

Maybe it’s not in you..

Breaking point is very near

Don’t want that to be in you..

How can this be so unclear?

But so unclear for who?


Conspiraloon

My eyes are open but I can’t see

Anything that makes any sense to me

My ears are working but I just can’t hear

Anything but the thudding of my own fear

I can reach and touch but I just can’t feel

Anything that’s like what I believe is real

My mouth is open but I just can’t say

Anything that doesn’t make other people run away

(chorus)

Cuz I’m a conspiraloon

I don’t go out and party

Too busy fearing the illuminati

Yeh I’m a conspiraloon

I can’t just go out and have some fun

I need to find the truth about  9/11

Oh I’m a conspiraloon

If I go out I might fry

In what they’re dropping from the sky

Yeh I’m a conspiraloon

There are lizards on my back

And all my evidence is cack..

***

My thoughts are closed to any current affairs

I’m lost in the past, but I don’t wear flares

My mind won’t do politics and the like

I prefer to wear a silly mask and read David Icke

My eyes believe everything I see on the net

Unless it’s proven fact, but it’s a cover up I bet

And I must be right because so many others agree

In my online , worldwide community.

(rpt chorus)

My keyboard needs replacing every six months

I don’t see my friends now, they prefer to go get drunk

When they should be helping build the Utopia

That will appear when I open my curtains if I shake this agoraphobia!


Cameron, I would call you a cunt…

So it’s farewell to the NHS

Legal aid and pensions

Working for your dole

When employment’s in a hole

And not to fucking mention

Tax cuts for the richest

Benefit cuts for the poor

Can you please explain to me

Why we should tolerate your shit anymore?

Cameron, I would call you a cunt,

But you don’t have the depth or charm

And if we should ever meet

You’ll also meet my baling arm.

Cameron, I would call you a cunt

But the usefulness and beauty are amiss

And if we should ever meet

I’ll be giving you a Glasgow kiss.

It’s a bit weird getting your jollies

From increasing our risk of dying

Or can you just not get it up

Without the thought of poor folks crying?

You punch tables, victorious

Each time you whack another coffin nail in

While I punch pictures of your face

Man, my hate for you is unfailing..

Cameron, I would call you a cunt,

But you don’t have the depth or charm

And if we should ever meet

You’ll also meet my baling arm.

Cameron, I would call you a cunt

But the usefulness and beauty are amiss

And if we should ever meet

I’ll be giving you a Glasgow kiss.

You murder what we breathed life in to for years

Rape the state born from our blood, sweat and tears

Abuse our children with all these unnecessary cuts

If we ever meet, may your god help your nuts..

Cameron, I would call you a cunt,

But you don’t have the depth or charm

And if we should ever meet

You’ll also meet my baling arm.

Cameron, I will call you a cunt

As you are very good at pissing

down on those living hand to mouth

Let’s hook up for some Glasgow kissing.