Droplets of Verse: ‘Working Like The Chinese’

It’s official, this is central government advice
Everyone should work like the Chinese
Tax credits are not good for the national debt
A dollar should be paid for every bucket of sweat
And if one of those buckets gets accidentally spilled
Our profit margins and share prices get killed
The dignity of labour should be recognised
Shirkers will be hounded, humiliated, ostracised
Arriving late for work punished by instant dismissal
Bonuses a distant dream, pay rises illegal
Phoning in sick will become a criminal offence
Workers unite together to delight in magical moments
Wage slaves never wasting precious time
Savouring the size of the mountain to climb
More hard labour a worthy reward for the daily strains
And a ready supply of index linked handcuffs and chains

Droplets of Verse: ‘Fighting For The Right To Feel Offended’

Fighting for the right to feel offended
‘God save the Queen’ should be respected
A nation’s people patriotic to the end
Never ever forced or made to pretend

A sacred monarchy born for glorious rule
No real reason why it should not be sung at school
Teach the children early, to honour and respect
Nothing wrong with being told what’s correct

Droplets of Verse: ‘I’m an Asylum Seeker’

I’m an asylum seeker
Looking for a long break
From right wing politicians
Who are so fake

I’m an asylum seeker
Escaping the war
Where the ruling classes
Inflict misery on the poor

I’m an asylum seeker
Sick of the excuses
When cabinet ministers
Squeeze the nation’s purses

I’m an asylum seeker
Weary of endless deceit
News media machinery
Broadcasting lies on our streets

I’m an asylum seeker
I know there’s no escape
From bureaucratic torture
I’m tied up by red tape

I’m an asylum seeker
There’s nowhere to run
Closed circuit TV
Electronic eyes on everyone

I’m an asylum seeker
Walking through a storm
Everybody tells me
That it’s lovely and warm

I’m an asylum seeker
Displaced and disaffected
Despised by default
Doomed to be the  dirty disconnected

Droplets of Verse: ‘When Will Britain Stop Being America’s Bitch?’

Across the Atlantic Ocean is the Land of the Free
Yankees roaming the planet, spreading new kinds of slavery
Replacing democracy with dollars, sniffing out deals
Pouring cash into deep pockets, greasing the wheels
Selling weapons and world peace in the same package
Diplomats and handshakes cause collateral damage

Britain is their ally in a ‘special relationship’
When will Britain stop being America’s bitch?

Nuclear weapons are stockpiled as a deterrent
While American guns end up in the hands of insurgents
Britain expresses deep concern, alongside Americans
But cowboys do their real talking with guns
Britain’s long standing contribution to NATO is respected
Military aid to hungry American dogs of war always accepted

Here comes the cavalry, it’s their good old friends the British
When will Britain stop being America’s bitch?

Global trade is poised to become truly transatlantic
A comprehensive deal designed to open up multiple markets
Ownership of all assets scooped up by the world’s richest
Public services grabbed by the well connected wealthy elitist
The British government stays faithful to a capitalist agenda
Imported from the USA, where they all love a big spender

Money talks, it’s Britain and America’s second language
When will Britain stop being America’s bitch?

Droplets of Verse: ‘Satanic Gardens’

I’m in the Satanic Gardens
Where the grass grows black
The lawn is never ending
Full of toxic weeds and heart attacks

In the Satanic Gardens
The sun burns very hot
Wilting flowers droop
In blood red plastic pots

In the Satanic Gardens
The soil is black as coal
Hosepipes of imminent doom
Wash away a man’s soul

In the Satanic Gardens
Giant snails devour the greenery
Earthworms big as dogs
Disturb the dreadful scenery

In the Satanic Gardens
The crazy paving screams
Garden gnomes cackle and grin
It’s a shedload of bad dreams
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Droplets of Verse: ‘Jeremy Corbyn’s Beard’

Jeremy keeps me fastidiously clean
Never leaves behind even the smallest stray baked bean
I’m always neatly trimmed, no hairs sticking out anywhere
Jeremy’s bushier days long gone, consigned to yesteryear

Above me lives Moustache, balancing like a hairy slug
In between top lip and nose, in a corridor so snug
If Jeremy buys a razor, I might find myself shorn away
But he’s not so fond of cutbacks, so I think I’m here to stay

Droplets of Verse: ‘Strippers’

Peeling away layers of state infrastructure
The government flirts with hard core free market erotica
Seducing the public, parading their economic credibility
Skimpy regulations making neoliberalism look sexy

Human rights stripped away, unclipping the shoulder straps
A provocative pole dance, in front of a drooling press pack
Spreadeagled, and sold a slow torture by the whip of austerity
Near naked, a nation accepts its fate gracefully, gratefully