Waiting For The Summer

Got my Aldi pants, got my smart telly
Got my bad boy Bose, got my Noam Chomsky
Had my porridge oats and my caffeine fix
Got my walking boots, found my golfing sticks
Got my new hair, got my new hair cream
Got the mighty Spurs, they're my football team
Got my training club, it's a pensioner gym
Had the Labour Party but I've chucked them in
Bought my Wainwright's ale and my Castro tee
I'm stocked up on eggs and vitamin D
Got my achy back from my achy bed
Filling my shelves with all the books I've read
Been writing letters about Julian A to my MP
But she doesn't seem bothered from what I can see
Got my exercise bike, got my Ferrero Rocher
Diggin' my country music more each day
I'm locked down tight 'cept for my shopping raids
Can't quite work out if I should be afraid
Got a snowman in the garden, I see a blue tit in the tree
I'm waiting for the summer, I'm waiting to be free







Copyright: FishyLyrics 2021

Mohamed, Zakaria, Ahed and Ismail

Four boys on a beach playing football in the sand
Much the same as any others in any other land
The fun and the laughter, the cheers and the shouts
The goals and celebrations were joyous no doubt
Four sons of fishermen sharing delight
Unaware of the gun turret fixing its sight
Their youth no protection from the evil of the imminent crime
Their purity mattered not in the executioner's mind
And as the metal casing trembled soon coloured became the sand
With the blood of the boys playing football on the grave Gaza strand
From innocents to martyrs within two mortar shells
Please remember Mohamed, Zakaria, Ahed and Ismail









Copyright: FishyLyrics 2021

My Little Girl

(This poem comprised part of my ‘Father of the Bride’ speech at the wedding of my daughter, Mollie)

1990 one February morn, in to the world a child was born
Our first child, a special child as every child to every parent is
Dark hair, tiny wrinkled face, tiny hands and feet
Tiny eyes that could barely open, a tiny mouth that could not yet speak
Six pounds two ounces of perfection, six pounds two ounces of beauty
And with trembling hands I lifted her up and held her high
Felt the tear run from my eye
Who knew 'til then what paternal love could be

Month by month I watched her grow
And now a toddler off we'd go to clubs and playgroups 'round our way
Toybox and Tumbletots and there she'd play
While I stood by not far away in case her growing confidence should take to flight
And Dad was needed to pick her up and hold her tight
Until her fears would slip away
And wo betide the playgroup worker who might seek to offer her a helping hand
"Daddy do it, Daddy do it" she would firmly say

Age five and off to school! Such a tiny tot it didn't seem quite fair
And to find a uniform to fit was frankly a bit of a nightmare
But luckily Mum's sewing skills were up to it
And so she took her place amongst her peers in her Fernwood red and grey
With a matching bobble in her hair
From infants on to juniors and so the years would pass
Come each and every September still the smallest in the class
But they don't measure talent in feet and inches
Nor spirit in kilograms or stones
And your size will never stop you when your heart is so much bigger than your bones

High days and holidays in Devon, Cornwall, Greece and France and Spain
And a little brother to love and boss about
Tell him off, then help him out
Parties at Macdonalds and Hoods Hideout, sleepovers by the score
Swimming, Football, Athletic clubs - no chance of getting bored!
And with every race and every game came the fears and tears that competition brought to the child afraid to lose
But come the starter's gun that will to win programmed within
Would see that all that could be given was given
Whichever would be the sport
Theatre groups too were joined and performance in some plays
While Mum and Dad did their bit as the unpaid Uber drivers of the day!

The teens were a little tough, cross words and some heartache
The bond was stretched and stretched again but yet it would not break
And anyway, who could doubt that from a rebel's seed the rebel child might grow
And what can a mother and father do but wait,
Wait patiently in knowledge that the rose determined only to show its thorns in teenage angst would flower and bloom when father time allowed the chance

Mollie was born with the work gene, no doubt inherited from her Mum
And at fifteen years and four days of age she earned her very first Saturday wage
At a dry cleaner just around the corner followed by a florists a little further down the lane
Where flowers were cut and floors were swept and scrubbed
And a life lesson taught - a little pain for a little gain

Now on to Bilborough College followed by Nottingham Trent University
With a spell of selling burgers in between
And slowly the destructive energy that the teenage years had borne
Was now channelled to create and learn
And the fight that was always held within would now burn bright
And start to show itself in its true form
Each challenge now met and conquered, each test now overcome
Each term, each year was a student's life filled with toil and fun
So after three years of hard study and a little hard drinking too
There awaited a 1st class honours degree
And a career path chosen readily
A teacher's life it was to be!
A life that asks a lot but gives back equally in return
Mollie puts in her heart and soul each day so that others now may learn
As always no half measures, it's not in her DNA
One hundred percent or not at all, she knows no other way

So from babe to child to teenage girl to woman fully grown
How fast the years have passed, how the time has flown
The infant once so reliant on her parents' care and guidance
Now fully independent with strong principles
And firm convictions of her own
With values to be respected and beliefs she's not afraid to shout out loud
And an empathy with those for whom the cards have fallen less favourably,
Those who suffer life's inequalities
It all makes her Dad so proud

So here today she sits before you now as the beautiful bride
Our daughter Mollie
And it is with a father's love and a father's pride I have given her away
To the man she will now grow old with, to the man she will love
And be loved in return
To her chosen one, her husband, her love, her Tom







Copyright: FishyLyrics 2020

For Barbara

Dementia didn't come knocking at the door
It came like a stranger in the night
Silently and out of sight
And month by month and each year on
It stole all that it could get its sickly fingers on
Bit by bit it robbed for free
Another slice of history
But even this thief with intentions so malign
Cannot steal the precious memories you left behind
For those memories are preserved in other minds
Of daughters, grandchildren, family and friends
And they can be recalled by all of us
Who held you dear and loved you
Each and every year
Recalled at will with fondness and with smiles
All the happy times before your trials
So rest in peace with easy mind
Take our love and all thoughts kind
And hold them with you come what may
Until, if and when, we shall meet another day




Copyright: FishyLyrics 2020

Love

Once love had wings that soared on high
And flew breathless on the wind
It had fire that could melt the winter ice
That love's disenchantments oft care to bring
It would roll and rise like the unchained waves
Never daring to slow or sleep
Only resting on the shoreline 
When its journey was complete
Now love's edges are soft and round
Its arrows glow pink not burning red
It needs not wings, nor fire, nor ice
Yet grows still with words unsaid
It needs to race time no more
But walks nature's path so true
And wakes each and every morning
In a bed that is shared by two



Copyright: FishyLyrics 2020

Do You Really Know Us

Do you really see us
Is it hard to hold our gaze
When you glimpse us in the churchyards,
The alleys and doorways
Do you ever see us queueing
As we struggle to provide
Do you recognise the anger
At the stealing of our pride
Do you see us as we watch the silent meter
When winter comes to call
Can you see the vapour as we breathe
From deep within our walls

Do you really hear us
Do you hear our voices strain
Do you listen when we call out to you
To help us ease our pain
Do you hear the echoes from our empty cupboards
Do the cries of hunger travel all that far
Can you hear the clinking of the solitary silver coin
As it drops from the cookie jar
Do you hear our pleas for mercy
From your imposed austere war
Does the sound of our oft repeated eulogies
Carry to your door

Do you really know us
Do you walk our streets and lanes
Would you remember what we smell like
Once our cross has been marked against your name
Do you really know us
Our hourly battle to survive
For it seems we are forgotten,
Ignored and cast aside
Do you really know us
Or is it time to pay more heed
When you cut the cake please think of us
We have only simple wants and needs



Copyright: FishyLyrics 2020

Bring Him Home (For Julian)

The multi award winning journalist Julian Assange is currently being held 
in a British prison pending the outcome of an extradition request from
the USA

Governments, discover your spines
Set him free!
Parliamentarians, find your voices
Set him free!
Writers, unshackle your chains
Set him free!
Judiciary, honour your profession
Set him free!
Empire, search for your soul
Set him free!
People, wield your power
Bring him home!





Copyright: FishyLyrics 2020


 

 

The Truth Teller (For Julian)

(The journalist and publisher Julian Assange is currently being held in a
British jail pending the outcome of an extradition request from the USA)

The truth teller lies alone in his cell, all rights and freedoms to him forbidden
For the crime of revealing that which would be concealed, unearthing that which would be hidden
As vicious smears and wicked lies are formed to sully and defame
To assassinate his character, to brutally scar his name

Whilst with bitterness, with malice, with injured criminal pride
An ugly empire coerces, bribes and bullies, casts morality aside
And pays those pipers willing to play its sinful tune
Orchestrates the dance for dollars from the devil's own ballroom

Break the man, kill his message and may the truth go rot in hell
The memorandum sent by bloodstained hands so that others dare not tell
A chilling message sent to silence, a threat which plainly says
That the just side of the law may not protect you if the empire gets its way

If exposure of a crime can in itself as a crime be seen
And if the perpetrator of that misdeed can as well the very prosecutor be
If the innocent may wane in jail and the criminal may guard the jailer's key
Then what mad fools have we become to accept such fantasy

For those whose pens seem dry of ink, for those whose voices fail
For those perched on the illusory fence of compromise, beware the rusty nail
Truth is truth and all variants are but letters littered in a phoney text
Throw Julian to the wolves and they're coming for you next




Copyright: FishyLyrics 2019

Oh Palestine, dear Palestine

Oh Palestine, dear Palestine
How my heart aches for thee
So cruel a world we live in
That permits such tyranny
Your homeland signed away to another
To provide a sanctuary
Who could have known the persecuted
Would so soon the persecutor be
Oh Palestine, dear Palestine
How my heart bleeds for thee
Walls and wire now strangle the air
Where the lungs of freedom used to breathe
Your people incarcerated in human corrals 
Trapped like goldfish in a bowl
A temporal jailhouse for their bodies
An eternal prison for their souls

Oh Palestine, dear Palestine
How my heart burns for thee
It burns with anger deep and red
It burns with indignity
But above all it burns with a peerless pride
At a spirit that won't be quelled
At a people that shall not be broken
At a will of iron held
At a life of resistance all consuming
As the toll of martyrs yearly climbs
At your honour and your virtue
Your enduring faith in heartless times
Oh Palestine, dear Palestine
One day you will once again be free
And a land stolen will be returned 
From the river to the sea


Copyright: Fishylyrics - 2019

Tell Harry That I Love Him

(This poem was written on behalf of my daughter Mollie to the lifelong British socialist, political activist and NHS campaigner Harry Leslie Smith after he was taken in to hospital with a life threatening condition. Harry died shortly afterwards aged 95)
Tell Harry that I love him
Please tell him that I care
Tell him that I'm worried
If not a little scared
Tell him of my admiration
Of how I respect his honesty
How I treasure what he's told me
About his life, his history
Tell him that I've watched his Labour conference speech
Until I know it off by heart
That I carry it within me
Though we are generations apart
Thank him for his words that painted pictures
So that I could be informed
About a life almost unimagined
Before I was ever born
Tell him I'll hold him in my memory
As long as it may last
But mostly, please tell him that I love him
Whatever may come to pass


Copyright: Fishylyrics 2019

 

If I had my time again

If I had my time again, I often wonder what I'd be
Not that I'm complaining, life's been pretty good to me
I've earned  enough to pay the bills and buy the kids some treats
I've put in the hours, grafted hard, can show the blisters on my feet

It's just that some folks seem to find it easy to bring in the moolah
With cushy jobs that get them big pads and fancy cars
Not that I'm the jealous type, but I still can't help but dream
If lady luck had dealt different cards how life might have been

Maybe I'd have been a footballer on three hundred grand a week
Although I don't fancy all that winter stuff in rain and snow and sleet
And what if I was only decent and not a superstar
I'm not sure the lads at Accrington drive around in jaguars

Or a DJ at the Beeb, that wouldn't be so bad
There's a pretty penny to be made, just ask the ginger lad
But could I really stomach Jedward or Donny and Marie
And what if I copped the early morning shift to start at half past three

A politician's life seems easy, all hot air, sex and booze
And expenses by the thousands for anything you choose
But I'm a bit rough around the edges and I think that it might tell
And I'm not sure my debating style would go down very well

I might even consider something dodgy as long as I didn't go to jail
With big bucks, perks and bonuses where it's impossible to fail
A no lose game, caviar, champagne and a guarantee of wages by the million
So, ... if I had my time again I'd be a director at Carillion



Copyright: Fishylyrics 2018

Persimmon, Jeff Fairburn and the unholy stink of capital

Jeff Fairburn, remember the name 
His life will never be the same again 
Caught in the spotlight of the camera's eye 
With a seventy five million pound bonus he couldn't deny

Couldn't deny, could barely speak 
As he slithered out of shot so mild and meek 
Leaving unspoken words polluting the air 
With a gargantuan stink from capital's lair 

The lifetime earnings of seventy men 
Signed off with a casual swipe of the pen 
And another eight hundred million spread around his chums 
What houses that might build, just do the sums 

Jeff, I'm sure in your world you're held in much high esteem 
For the way in which you used "The Help to Buy" scheme 
To jack up house prices subsidised by the tax of the many 
And syphon off the profits to make the few a pretty penny 

But in my world you're a thief, simple and plain 
Abusing a rigged system for personal gain 
And from this day on until you meet your god 
You'll just be Jeff Fairburn - that greedy sod! 



Copyright: Fishylyrics 2018


 

For Razan(In memory of Razan al-Najjar)

Ask not which Private fired the gun
That sent this sweet child to Martyrdom
Neither search the Sergeant’s name
Who lined up his troops to kill and maim
Demand not investigation, nor seek any testimony
For the guilty party is already plain to see
No rogue bullet left its chamber, no errant shot was discharged
And no words should be written that serve as camouflage
Half truths are lies and nothing more and should not be set in print
And I bear no stain of prejudice when penning honest words in ink
This was killing by instruction, homicide as policy
Yet one more wanton, heartless act in Zionist history
So accuse me not of antisemitism for no race test do I fail
When I place in the dock for murder the State of Is-ra-el

Copyright: Fishylyrics 2018

The Angel of Khan Younis

Weep not for Razan Ashraf al-Najjar
An angel now looking down from the stars
A mother's daughter slain by a mother's son
Picked off in the sights of an Israeli gun
A white nurse's coat no refuge from the sniper's eye
That fired the lead and watched her die
Weep because she is just another one
Taken in the blood soaked slaughter for Zion
While a shameful, silent world looks on


Copyright: FishyLyrics June 2018


 

An ill wind blows at Westminster(aka The Mother of all Farts)

Margarita Mayhem was a Tory Minister, the Prime one of the day
Mayhem by name and nature too, even colleagues were bound to say
She'd stumbled through her tenure leaving behind a littered trail
But today's unholy stink at Westminster would surely be a step beyond the pale


The PM stopped mid-sentence, her face turned ashen grey
Her knees began to tremble and her hips began to sway
And then it came from deep within, a force too great to stop
Docking at the point of no return with first a moan and then a pop

Clenched buttocks could do nothing and the pop became a mighty roar
A natural gas eruption with methane at it's core
The explosion echoed around the chamber while the PM shrank from view
Her embarrassed eyes sought left and right demanding swift rescue

Rise Grooling, Grunt and Fondle, faces a ruddy blush
Like commandeered Quixotes and with voices very hush
Mumbled meek apologies if they should be to blame
Then settled humbly to their bench, heads hung in mock shame

The blast at last was left behind but, oh boy, far worse was to arrive
A malodorous funk so poisonous mere words could bare describe
A punge so rich in sulphur, in rot and in decay
A reek of pure malevolence passed through the House this day

Hot air rises as it will and it crept from bench to bench
MPs groaned, order papers waving, unable to take the stench
At last The Speaker shouted "Order" and he held a steady gaze
As the leader of The Opposition emerged visible through the haze

Corblimey struggled to Despatch, yet determined for a kill
And declared he'd had an email from Jean in Bexley Hill
Who to put the matter bluntly was having trouble at one end
And was there any remedy the PM could recommend

Labour Members rolled in the aisles, huge cheers, rapturous applause
Such wit and spontaneity from the leader of their cause
What clarity of mind he'd shown in circumstances oh so dire
This erstwhile Son of Sam was now the hero of the hour

Cue Gable dancing lightly to his feet, his face still bore a tear
Asserting this was just the type of hard exit that the British people fear
The Greens cried "no emissions" while the SNP sat schtum
And a voice from the back gave curt advice about a finger and a bum

Enter a digit jabbing Skinnard, well known not to gladly suffer fools
"Deeds speak louder than words" says he "and that one sums up Tory rule"
Well, that sent the Tories in to frenzy and pandemonium ensued
Insults were hurled and curses cast should a foe's face appear in view

With retching still heard on all levels and no dispersing of the acrid cloud
With bodies scrambling for the doors and Members tripping in the crowd
With hands not knowing what they were groping - not unusual some may say
The Speaker had no option but to halt proceedings for the day

That evening the gig economy sprang sharply in to life
Cleaners, Florists, Perfumers worked all through the night
Lavender on every bench, scented candles, sweet bouquets
By morning all was fresh again, no whiff of yesterday

Also scheming hard that night the team at number Ten
"Nothing has changed" squawked Mayhem but that didn't convince the men
A cunning plan was needed to pin the odious blame elsewhere
Especially as the whole Poohaha had gone out live on air

Step forward Alexander Horace de Waffel Bilge, tousled hair and garbling tongue
Who insisted he could come up trumps with an explanation for the ghastly pong
"A draught of ale, a glug of gin and a few hours thinking time.
That's all I need" said Horace while slurping down his wine

Next day came Horace to the House, could he defuse this powder keg
He'd consulted widely - GCHQ, MI5 and 6, and even Mystic Meg
"I've unearthed the guilty culprit. I've had all hands to the pump"
And professed it to be the Russians with a putrid cyber dump

Even Bloomsberg at the Beeb didn't fall for that one and the PM's race was run
Mayhem was ultimately done for after months of hanging on
Crisis upon crisis had finally broken poor Margarita's heart
But who could have guessed it all would end with the Mother of all Farts!



Copyright: Fishylyrics December 2017 

 
 

Zero Hours Contracts – come join the queue

One million people at your beck and call
To come running when summoned and fill your shortfall
One million people waiting for your horn to sound
For a chance at a grab at your phantomlike pound
One million people waiting for your whistle to blow
To play in the game for a few hours or so
One million people with a life put on hold
Standing in line like the dockers of old
One million people with no peace of mind
On a merry-go-round of corporate design
One million people just one text away
From the message that reads "No Work Today"



Copyright: Fishylyrics - March 2017


Meet Joe…

See the eyes, the lack of pride
The self-reproach felt deep inside
No welcome here, no gaze returned
Head bowed, glances spurned

See the smile, lips tight drawn
It tells a lie, the face is torn
It hides a soul too hard to own
A camouflage for truths beknown

See the shoulders stooped and bent
The weight so heavy it can't relent
A load long carried in the mind
No pause or respite can it find

Feel the stomach cramped and tight
Hands are cold, head is light
Last pickings fed to smaller jaws
Tonight much like the night before

He reaches in to memory
For answers to his misery
Recalls only wages earned and money spent
Bigger bills and higher rent

Feel the humiliation as he stands in line
Two years now since the very first time
He signs for his boxed up charity
And wonders how this came to be

This throwback to an age gone by
The daily battle to survive
Work's safe refuge turned on its head
Employment's safety net in shreds

Feel the confusion, feel the pain
Feel the anger rise again
What crimes or wrongs were committed here
To be served a punishment so severe

A sentence crafted by corporate pen
To impoverish the worker once again
To have him servile, keep him tame
Know his place and know his shame

To strip away his dignity
Exploit his vulnerability
And lay the blame at his own door
The fault all his for being poor

See an existence cruel to bear
See a future full of fear
Meet a life born out of another's plan
Meet a 21st century working man

Meet Joe...



Copyright: Fishylyrics - February 2017

Homelessness – the devil’s cocktail

The abused who from the abuser hides
Her nerves don't hold for long
She starts at every nascent sound
She has to keep moving on

The doorway sleeper beside his dog
One blanket torn and wet
His face now shows the crooked scar
From the boot that followed the threat

The child whose home is now a B&B
A cot his new playground
Mum's zero hours became zero pay
And the rent just couldn't be found

The veteran in his wooded tent
His mind bears long a stain
All night he roams for fear of sleep
And the dreams that bring the pain

The unloved teenage girl who runs
Into a world that may not care
Now choices of the street are hers
She learns too soon that life's unfair

Add the addict and the migrant
And poor souls yet to learn their destiny
See the devil's cocktail for the homeless
In our disunited Kingdom 2017 

Copyright: Fishylyrics January 2017

 

Orgreave

The 18th June Nineteen Eighty Four
A date that The State had been long planning for
Revenge on it's mind, heart filled with hate
No chance that Orgreave would be Saltley Gate

No diversions or road blocks for pickets that day
Just escorting of miners along their way
For those men their fate was already sealed
As the Bobbies led them down to the corn field

Battle lines drawn, plans hidden from sight
Horses and dogs to the left and the right
Five thousand Coppers armed up to the teeth
Community policing this wasn't to be

The order was given, mounted police charged
Then short shield units commenced the barrage
Blows rained down to the head and the back
As the pickets they fled from the brutal attack

The beatings were savage, injuries many
Broken limbs, gashes, bruises ten a penny
Policemen delivered what their masters had yearned
Expenses and overtime dutifully earned

That paragon of virtue, the BBC
Doctored the film that the public would see
Footage reversed, truth bent like a bow
Government and broadcaster had their ducks in a row

Shamefully, ninety five miners charged with riot and affray
Their crime it appeared was just running away
A potential life sentence for these men of coal
The state had bloodied body but still desired soul

Ninety five acquittals eventually served
Collusion and perjury exposed by lawyers
No officer prosecuted, nor yet disciplined
For the lies that were peddled about "the enemy within"

"The enemy within" who works deep underground
In the damp and the dark with no natural sound
Whom with each breath of dust reduce their life term
As in retirement they wait for the dreaded "e" word

And now a public inquiry denied by the Home Secretary
A stockbroker's daughter, a Cheltenham College lady
No need then for justice, no search then for truth
That's a privilege reserved for a more genteel group

A word for you Amber, it doesn't end so
Politicians will come and politicians will go
But working men and women no longer bend at the knee
The truth we will have it, whenever it be!


Copyright: Fishylyrics - November 2016


Trickle or Trick

For those not cognisant with "trickle down"
Please allow me to explain
It's a form of macro-economics
From which we're all supposed to gain

To spread the wealth around, it's told
When The Rich make their vast sums
We follow with our pan and brush
And sweep up all the crumbs

Or put another way, perhaps
So the theory goes
We all drink up the spillages
From the cup that overflows

Now I've been waiting patiently
For a nibble or a sip
But to be quite honest with you
I've seen neither morsel, nor seen drip

I'm no trained economist
No Smith, no Marx, no Keynes
But I can spot a mighty heist
With just a poor boy's brains

No trickle down, instead a mighty geyser spurts
It's riches hidden from our view
A volcanic spewing forth of wealth
To satisfy the greed of few

But let me offer a word of warning
To you beneficiaries of the scam
The game doesn't last for ever
Enjoy your exploits while you can

For come the day of reckoning
The world, it turns around
King is pawn and pawn is king
When the walls come tumbling down

When we come, we'll come in numbers
When we come we'll come with strength
We'll come with jurisdiction
We'll come with clear conscience

When we come, we won't be asking
No polite requests, no subservience
Repossession, fair and just
No deals, no recompense


Copyright: Fishylyrics - November 2016

White hats, black hearts

The Marshal was rockin' in the chair
When his deputy arrived
Somethin' was playing on the deputy's mind
His eyes they couldn't lie

The boys, they're askin' questions
Said the deputy with a sigh
How come he's still alive
You know it don't look right

Boy's 'ud sure like to take him down
You only gotta give the word
They're feelin' kinda all riled up
From the stories that they heard

They reckon he's meaner than The Kid
An' Wesley Harding too
He's been runnin' with the James gang
The boys they swear it's true

Folks say he's got a real bad place
Right in the main town square
They tell there's hands an' feet
An' such scattered ever'where

Been told he's cruel to womenfolk
Don't treat 'em like he oughta
Don't let 'em dance or sing or nuthin'
Won't give 'em any quarter

You know, we' been huntin' down your outlaws
In towns where folks didn't seem to pay a mind
How come this real bad hombre
Has lasted all this time?

The boys, they tracked on down The Butcher
Got The Colonel on the run
Let 'em saddle up, head east again
An' end this lousy, lowdown sonofa gun

The Marshal looked up from his desk
Fixed the deputy with a stare
Rose real slow to his feet
While kickin' back his chair

You tell the boys to pipe on down
It ain't their job to think
You take 'em down to Sally's place
An' fix 'em up a drink

Remember this, you listen good
An' keep it kept inside
There's them that is an' them that ain't
An' them that do decide

It don't count if he's bad as bad
Or white as driven snow
The only thing that matters
Is if he's friend.....or foe


Copyright:  Fishylyrics - November 2016

The itchy finger

Theresa says she'll press the button
That got a mighty cheer
The thought of an apocalypse
Didn't seem to hold much fear

She blurted out the affirmative
With clarity and speed
Such sharp decision making
Is surely what we need

What strength of character she shows
A lady made of steel
No messing with this English rose
No doubting what she feels

No pussy footing with our foes
No dither and no qualms
She lets them know just where we stand
When it comes to using arms

Just one request, my dear P.M.
If it's not too much to ask
It'll help with any sleepless nights
And those scary dreams that last

Before the bombs come raining down
Before the earth is scorched
Before the limbs fly here and there
Before the world is torched

Before the gas fills up our lungs
Before the skin burns black
Before the blood boils through our veins
Before the heart attacks

Before the endless pain endures
Before the eyeballs glow
If you get an itchy finger
Please would you let me know


Copyright: Fishylyrics - November 2016

Banksters

You banking boys still at liberty
You think your crimes just devilry
Allowed because of whom you be
And ne'er a sign of your identity

The protection from your club is free
It's handed down each century
Along with your Oxbridge degree
And trust fund treasured in Jersey

But take care with your complacency
Us working boys hold memory
Of your imposed austerity
When the bell tolls, it will toll for thee

The law is yours, it's plain to see
The jailer waits with rusty key
But there are plenty who will work buckshee
To lead you to the hanging tree


Copyright: Fishylyrics - November 2016