The Tory Clan (Wellerman parody)

I know it's not politically balanced, but I look at it this way. I'm prepared to share my vitriol upon a party of any persuasion who are in government if they treat their people with such contempt.

In any case, writing these poems/lyrics is carthartic and I'm fond of creating parodies!

The Tory Clan
(To the melody of The Wellerman)

1.There once was a slip and conned were we
To give control to the Tory party,
They're so corrupt, they grind us down,
They grow, these bully boys grow (huh)

CHORUS
Rees-Mogg and Braverman come
With Patel, Dorries, Coffey, Raab (dumb),
Truss, Rishi from Boris's bum,
They'll take our lives and go.

2. Nadhim Zahawi is one more
Kwarteng, Cleverly, Eustice: poor
(in morals - for they rake in more,
their donors all aglow) (huh)

3. Barclay, Wallace, Malthouse and Shapps
don't care about the energy caps
as power falls into their laps
Who cares if poverty grows (huh)  

4. Javid, Gove no longer around
but hanging on - that Boris clown,
Care home numbers were brought down
Matt Hancock had to go (huh)

5. We wonder how long can it last,
Restrictions on our freedoms passed,
We can only hope it's soon these nasty
sub-humans will go (huh)

Drive Down Wages

Another political poem, with the vague idea of creating a protest song.

The current squeeze on the low paid is becoming intolerable, with energy prices creating vast profits whilst more and more people are having to choose between eating or heating their homes. Government seem more interested in placating the donors that finance their party rather than caring for the populace. The fuel price increases affect everything else including food.

All material for a protest song.

Drive Down Wages

Drive down wages as the profits soar

Shareholder dividends are at the core

Funds to a government - their corporate whore

Mutual benefit, and they want more.

Shift blame to those whose lives are on the floor

Paid media outlets will take on this chore

Front page scapegoats we can all abhor

Distract the masses - glitz and glam galore.

If things get tight then blame a foreign war

Cut back on services already raw

Private consultancies will then ensure

Tax payer monies go to banks offshore.

When prices rise and rise and rise some more

When people starve because they're made too poor

We can't protest because it's 'gainst the law

Don't fret - be happy that the profits soar.

The Idiot at the Door

This poem needs context. At the time of writing we have a right-wing government and there is a growing dissatisfaction in the populace about their handling of the economy and their disastrous lack of care for all but the wealthy and corporate supporters that finance them.

This political poem was in response to a friend's reaction to an unexpected visitor - a supporter of the government's local representive, actually polling to see if they could expect her vote. Her views are diametrically opposed but she was so shocked at the audacity of the caller she was unable to summon the vitriol she considered apt.

Having written this, I needed a title. I considered "The Poll Chancer", "Door to Door Failsman", "The Noddy Politic" but decided on a simpler one.

The Idiot at the Door

On Saturday a knock came - a knock upon my door.

I opened it and saw a man - what had he come here for?

He asked a question, one incomprehensible to me

He surely wasn't serious yet he smiled expectantly.

"I represent your MP and we're here to take some notes.

We wondered if, come polling day, will yours be 'mongst our votes?"

As gobsmacked as I was I barely managed a reply.

A "no" seemed insufficient, but enough. He said, "goodbye."

But afterwards, upon this incongruity, I mused:

Was it shock at their stupidity? Such words I could have used!

I'd rather swallow broken glass,

or tattoo Boris on my ass,

Let spiders lay eggs in my ears,

Have pus infuse my hourly beers,

Run naked through the flames of hell,

Endure a burning methane smell

from dragons eating diseased meat,

Chew fungal skin from Rees-Mogg's feet...

I could go on (you get the gist)

The opportunity I missed

To let the moron on my path

Think I was a polymath,

To blind the berk with rhetoric

To make him realise he's thick.

It takes a Mobius logic twist

For each Tory apologist,

So finally, I'll summarise:

I will not bow to Tory lies,

And when you're asking for my vote,

It's "grow a brain, you silly scrote."