Cry God for Willy

November 18, 2010

Now there’s a problem for big brother, Harry’s gone and stole the thunder

And Willy knows to win his spurs he’ll have to aid the jolly plunder.

“To Helmand,to Helmand our streets must be protected

As endless war Papa it is to be expected

I foresee exploding Talibs in our palaces and more

Foul terror Sharia courts all this delivered to our shore;

I’ll show Harry, show him slaughter should be done with zest

Did he light up peasant boys in their fields,that’s the test?

We must defend our heart is pure, come let us the rampant lion unfurl

Shred and scald those Pashtun wallahs,I may be pretty but I’m no girl,

Taining done, know the guns ,ammo blows them all to bits

Mothers fathers babes or kids they’ll not know arse from tits;

But if those kids grew up with submarines and massive missiles

They could come here they’d not be stopped sailing for our sceptered isles

So please Papa say I can away ere break of day

For we must conquer that foul country and I will slay

Those bearded baddies Muslim murderers make all weep make all cower

At Albion’s name as I just might fly St George from every tower.”

Once more unto the breach:

June 14, 2010

Hurrah hurrah Prince Harry  ‘s going to wah ;

To win back home a medal from his pa

Our feudal relic  ‘s off to kill

Those A fghan chappies – such a thrill.

And will he wear his Nazi gear?

Oh will he ever – never fear.

What a hero, in a chopper

Happy as a sales day shopper

Picking victims just like sweaters,

He will teach them we ‘re their betters.

Tickety boo and don’t cha know

Burning babies give quite a glow

When hellfire missiles strike their home

For they ‘ve not got an Iron Dome!

Infanticide and Genocide

What fun that Hell is on our side.

Hurrah hurrah Prince Harry  ‘s going to wah

To bring back home more booty for papa.

Janus

Kabullshit

February 26, 2010

11/2/10

Year  9

Now we’re killing them with kindness
For that’s just what we do
To help them redevelop and even have a Zoo.

Killing them with kindness when we drag them out of bed
Cuff little hands behind and shoot them through the head.

Oh we’re killing them with kindness
For that’s just what we do.

If they’re Uzbek or Hazara,Pashtun or Tajik
It really doesn’t matter if they play hide and seek
As we’ll bomb all their weddings and their funerals too.
For that’s just, well that’s just what we do.

Oh we’re killing them with kindness
Killing them with kindness

And if you hear we slit pricks at Bagram or elsewhere
Do remember that it’s done with tender loving care,
As we’re killing them with kindness
For that’s just what we do
To help them redevelop and even keep that zoo.

Neo-Con Auto-da-fé

June 6, 2006

As torture is now de rigueur in our advanced 21 st century civilisation and as our dear leader has stated that much valuable information stems from it this poem is dedicated to that concept.

The usual sick assassins teach all torture as a norm
And so this grovelling satrapy perforce must now
conform,
Preaching democracy and human rights, smiling as we come,
The reality quite different , a broomstick up the bum.
From Guantananamo to Abu Ghraib from Basra to Bagram
Its blind’em beat’em boil’em till they bow-wow to Uncle Sam.
For liberals who find this loathsome, really not quite
cricket
The answers all to obvious, they know where they can stick it.
So wire those testicles up Tony ,Gordon ,wire those testicles up
Till its piss and shit and blood which is filling our loving cup,
As we chant of the market supreme, all they should want or need,
While we fry the world in their oil thus demonstrating our creed.
Then swamp their lands with D.U. shock’n awe those
cluster bombs down,
For in this Christian rapture Bush prays that all Islam will drown.

N P D TONY (Narcissistic Personality Disorder)

July 5, 2005

I’m N P D Tony I fuck five times a night
My prick is enormous while Cherie is so tight
And when I’m not at it there is killing for kicks
All that plenty of ragheads or do I mean spics?
Or ’slamics or A-rabs or just thing-a-me jigs?
Well much of a muchness – do pass over those figs.
Some crazies bombed London – obviously foreign
While I was G-8ing with George in a sporran,
Turns out they’re from up north which now proves I was right
Home grown or from elsewhere I must match might with might,
We will pay the blood price – for when all’s said and done
Never mine – which is nice – and then – what’s spun is spun.
Not a thousand injured less than a hundred dead
With the footsie unchanged it’s my time for the Med.
I gave lots of speeches with all sorts of pauses
So Boono and Geddoff can sing of my causes,
As dear George is so pleased when I talk about Hell
Barbaric – sin – evil – all went down very well.
On World War 2’s sixtieth we threw a big bash,
The date wasn’t quite right – hey – we weren’t paying cash!
But we made folks look back and remember their youth
Then they’ll buy anything, any lie dressed as truth –
So I bat off Iraq linked with bombs underground
Just as myth that keeps going around and around
And I pull my sad face that means thinking of nowt
Or drop dead you suckers no one’s getting me out.
I’m N P D Tony I fuck five times a night
My prick is enormous while Cherie is so tight
And when I’m not at it there is killing for kicks
All that plenty of rag heads or do I mean spics?

From Sofa to War

February 25, 2005

Fake it up Falconer and murderous Morgan
They smithed a gold note letting Tone tote his Wesson
But bending it legal – well that needed some sleight
So they got the A/G in for tea ’n a bite
And after a cuppa a quick nod and a wink
He hallmarked their jottings hardly pausing to blink.
Such paranoid sofa psychopathology
Took us to war with no hint of apology
Slipping Bomb ’em all Boyce with Genocide Jackson
Right off their leash to slaughter, murder and poison,
Though both knew full well that from Nuremberg alone
Their deeds were illegal which no one can condone.
But it is what Blair wanted so Blair’s is the crime
And spin spin or move on he is marked for all time.

Hearsay

(Being an epilogue to From Sofa to War)

27.02.05
Now the A/G’s denials ring loud down Whitehall,
That which was reported it was quite a wrong call:
Not Falconer nor Morgan helped in that answer
As Lord Button has said, he’s such an old chancer,
He’ll change ‘they’ to ‘very’ ‘pause’ then shove in an ‘I’,
The public can stuff it if they think it’s a lie;
While the audio tape that’s not been released yet
Well it won’t be or not ’til it’s cleaned you can bet.
And so back to Goldsmith who pickled these peppers,
Who is he fingering, who now are the lepers?
It seems five nameless bloodthirsty apparatchiks
Two in his office, three the F/O and the mix
Of wallpaper Derry who glanced down on the plan
With Harriet Harman, hard hearted harridan,
Greenwood the gangster of international law
Which makes nine, nine who assed up advice for this war.
But behind them was Blair and behind Blair was Bush
So cry freedom or you’ll get kicked right in the tush,
Or be locked in your home or thrown into some jail
No evidence shown to you and no chance of bail,
No courts, too expensive, no juries, they might think;
It’s New Labour’s Britain and it really does stink.

Broadmoor Blah

December 4, 2004

We have found no weapons— no
I’ve said that I accept—accept
Belief has proved unfounded—
Though still it’s our assumption
(quite different from our faith)
it was Saddam’s intention
to continue his transgression
The facts are clearly there
or if not there somewhere
Of this I have no doubt— no doubt
As evidence is all laid bare
This circle can be spun as square.

In Memorium

June 2, 2004

“This was written just after Bush had done his number on the aircraft carrier and Blair had been to Basra to congratulate the troops on their heroism.”

It’s baking down in Basra where the D.U. dust is blowing
And we Brits are wearing berets for it’s care that now we’re showing;
As leukaemic brainless babies are ejected out the breech
Why so our bagpipes solemn skirling sound a truly Christian screech.

A pity it’s in Basra where the D.U. dust is blowing
But Tony’s told it’s worth it he’s just to get that oil a’flowing;
There’s no N.S.P.C.C. down here, no paediatric stuff,
Only criminal invaders installed by neo-conning guff.

Oh it’s baking down in Basra where the d.u. dust is blowing
We Brits are wearing berets now it’s care that we are showing;
For as leukaemic brainless babies are ejected out the breech
So our bagpipes soulful skirling sound a truly Christian screech.

Bomb em all

April 3, 2004

Oh!

Bomb ’em all. Bomb ’em all
The ones of the veil or the shawl,
Bomb all those Afghans Iraqis and Kurds
Bomb all their weddings their wells and their herds
For we’re pre-empting death to them all
As under their rubble they sprawl
Where the D.U.s aboil in their water and soil
So beers up me lords bomb’ em all.

Bomb ’em all. Bomb ’em all
With shot and with shell let us maul
“Don’t count their dead! Miss the mosque if you must
But burn’ em to crisp napalm’ em to crust”
For we’re smashing these states to the wall
And who dares give help to their call
With all N.G.O.s gone ‘our’ party is still on!
So beers up me lords bomb ’em all.

Bomb ’em all. Bomb ’em all
Let’s torture and rape till they fall
1916-2009
We’ve bombed ’em and gassed ’em right down the line
So let’s kick in their balls ‘Hood ’em’ Hoon
And while Clunkett croaked the same toon
There’ld be Anthony Blair farting lies to the air
So beers up me lords bomb ’em all.

Bomb ’em all. Bomb ’em all
The house and the school and the ‘mall’!
“Geneva Con what? Guantanamo where?
Just kill the bad ‘uns -the ones… over there.”
For as “stuff happens” Rummy would say
“Who knows who is who if you pray.
Na get right off ma tits’ n go blow ’em to bits”
So beers up me lords bomb ’em all.

Bomb ’em all. Bomb ’em all
You’ve always got Rupe you can call
When the Sun Sky Times are yours every day
Straw, he can fuck it but lo he’s made hay.
Now Iraq’s up for grabs and wholesale
With Fox as the sting in the tail
We’ll let them refit it and tit tit tit tit it!
So beers up me Lords bomb ’em all.

Bomb ’em all. Bomb ’em all
Goldsmith bent it legal this call
Brown isn’t worried there’s poppy to sell
Pays for our guns in the next round of Hell.
Negroponte will smooth all dissent
With his happy Honduran bent
Letting death squads abound and
More death rattles sound
So beers up me lords bomb’ em all.

Oh

Bomb em all. Bomb em all.
The ones of the veil or the shawl
For Nuremberg came and Nuremberg went
Now we have ‘Bomb ‘n Buy’ all in a tent.
Stuff Magna Carta well out of date
It’s gun size now it’s gun size mate
So go strike through their soil
And slurp slurp up their oil
It’s beers up me lords
It’s beers up me lords
It’s beers up me lords bomb ’em all.

Paper Tigers

January 8, 2003

“This poem was written just prior to the war when Rupert Murdoch and Conrad Black’s papers were busily advocating it.
They should both be prosecuted for incitement to genocide.”

Now Rupert and Conrad they love a good scrap,
It makes such rich copy that jingoist crap.
For Rupe its just crude and all about price.
As for Con, well he’s always up for a slice,
With manners and morals and being so right,
Saddam is a psycho, let’s use our D.U.M. might.
The cruelty of anal retentives like these,
Whose editors grovel and write to appease,
Is paranoid now as they advocate war,
Genocide, poison, gore dripping on gore.
Great Scott what of Maggie or Donald you cry
Their sales, their profits-for that people must die?
Think it through and you’ll see to the truth of it,
That Rupe is a Con and the pair full of shit.
If their papers preach death then pray why not theirs,
For would the world weep if they both ‘fell down stairs’?