De-rigging the Deck

“No more taking high tea with the higher-ups,
Your majesty,” they told the Maid of Cups.

“No more living fancy-free like landed thieves,
Your majesty,” they urged the Page of Leaves.

“It’s not enough to be a patron of the arts,
Your majesty,” they warned the Queen of Hearts.

“No more clearing crofters from their fells
For sheep as far as one can see,
Your majesty,” they scared the Dame of Bells.

“No more shall your eldest fruit-of-loins
Be favoured for ascendancy,
Your majesty,” they snarled the King of Coins.

“You cannot beat or crush us all to graves,”
They shocked the Knight of Batons and the Prince of Staves.

“You cannot bribe or threaten us, my lords.”
They spooked the Knave of Diamonds and the Jack of Swords.

“We may be only deuces, threes and fours,
But to the House of Roses we bring wars.”

“The Court of Acorns next shall we uproot,
And then the Clan of Shields can follow suit.”

“We’ll strangle with our tentacles the bonds of Wands and Pentacles,
Then flush the royal flush out with a poker –
So let our fingers ruffle to the revolution shuffle,
And show Arcana Major why it can’t contain a joker.”

“You may be fat on clover, but you’ll soon be eating grubs,
Your majesty,” they promised to the Queen of Clubs.

“You’ll feel our pique upon your neck when sharpening our blades,
Your majesty,” they goaded to the King of Spades.

“The pips are taking back our land,
So drop your bluff and fold your hand.
We’ll take the tricks and watch you fall,
For lowly aces trump you all.”

Jubilee

Yours are the breaks
And ev’ry advantage,
The lowest of stakes
For the richest rewards.
Handed the world,
As you took it for granted:
Benighted and Earled
As miladies and lords.

It’s sad but it’s true
That we’ve little democracy,
You’re all that we’ve got
To break your own power.
We’re looking to you,
The old aristocracy:
Excise the rot,
And descend from your tower.

For better or worse, you are,
Blessing and curse, you are,
Dated, perverse,
When ennobled and crowned.
But leave it behind, will you
Open your mind, will you,
Maybe combined,
We can reach common ground.

Surely it’s common sense ?
History teaches us
Not be the leeches,
Or sponges or midges.
Give up your influence !
Give up your privilege !
Let’s not mend fences –
Instead, let’s build bridges.

Don’t be a traitor
Betraying your nation,
For we are your nation:
Each pilot and waiter.
So be a creator
Who levels the score,
To make Britain greater
Than ever before.

For better or worse, come on,
Balance your purse, come on,
Then reimburse
For each corgi and glove.
Pay back your debt, my friends,
Pay back in sweat, my friends –
This is no threat,
But a chance to show love.

Break with your ranks,
And roll up your sleeves,
Where ev’ryone cranks,
And ev’ryone heaves,
Where ev’ryone plays,
And ev’ryone learns,
As ev’ryone pays,
And ev’ryone earns.

Come quarrying stones,
Or burying bones,
Or manning the phone-lines,
Or polishing brass.
Come digging the spuds,
Or squeeging the suds,
Regardless of bloodlines,
Regardless of class.|

For better and worse, we are,
Plumber and nurse, we are,
Truly diverse,
And yet wholly alike.
Won’t you engage with us,
Sharing your stage with us ?
Open our cage,
And then turn up the mic.

For richer or poorer,
In grandeur and squalor,
In blue and white collar,
Let’s see the day won.
Whatever the weather,
In ev’ry endeavour:
Let’s shoulder together
To get the job done.

Royal Peculiar

Open our swimming pools, open our shopping malls,
Hold no opinion and smile at the crowd.
That’s what you’re paid for, so you can’t complain;
Walking and waving, that’s all you’re allowed.
We care what you think, just never express it;
Never forget that your shame ain’t our prob.
The good and the bad and the downright carbuncle,
Open them gladly or get a new job.

To the Future British Republic

A republic will not magic’ly make ev’rything benign,
Or even-out the wealth,
Or make your children genii, or cause the sun to shine,
All by itself.
It cannot bring you justice, set you free, or stop a war,
Just because it lacks an heir –
It cannot make its citizens all love their nation more
Just by being there.
But what it can achieve is just to give a little heart
For you all, not just the few,
And lift your heads a little as it gives an even start –
The rest is up to you.

The Singalong Song

We are not the greatest people,
That this world has ever seen –
Others will be worse and better,
We fall somewhere inbetween.
We could lie and claim a greatness
No-one would believe,
Or swear undying loyalty –
But none of us is that naive.

We ain’t gonna lie:
We do okay, we sometimes try,
We kinda manage to get by,
And do our thing.
Let’s cut the hype and tell the truth,
That we exist – we have the proof !
So doctors, welders, grans and youths –
Altogether, sing:

We are us,
And we are we,
And we ain’t you,
Cos you are you –
So you be you,
And we’ll be us,
And neither side will make a fuss,
And if you ever ask us why we sing,
We’ll say it’s just the way we swing.

We are not the oldest people,
Other folks have come and gone
Many nations came before us,
Others joined us later on,
We could lie and claim a legend
No-one would believe,
Or swear eternal destiny,
But none of us is that naive.

We ain’t gonna cheat:
No time to boast, no time to bleat,
We’ll keep our heads and keep our feet,
And take our chance.
Let’s cut the crap and ditch the doubt:
We’re here today, and that ain’t nowt !
So teachers, parents, guides and scouts –
Altogether, dance:

We are here,
And we are there,
And so are you,
And others too,
And ev’ryone
Is ev’rywhere,
And nobody will even care,
And if you ever ask us why we cheer,
We’ll say it’s just because we’re here.

Value-Added Tax

Every pound that I pay
Has purchased a share in my nation.
I’m part of the budget, I’m part of the say
Of the flashiest, costliest product around:
A civilised civilisation.

Income and Council and Capital Gains,
Sell me a future with teachers and trains !
Bring me some hospitals, bring me some parks !
Streetlights and windfarms and paintings and quarks !
Make my tomorrow’s that little bit better,
And p’raps I’ll remember when I get your letter,
And grumble a little bit less as your debtor,
Amidst all my curses to Keynes, Smith, and Marx.

But every hour I slog,
Has paid for another back-hander or bullet –
I’m part of the problem, a complicit cog,
An atom of grease on a lever of power,
That’s slightly my fault when they pull it.

Yet still we must pay up, for bad and for good,
To give unto Caesar, and not Robin Hood.
For we all have to fork out, and that is its beauty,
(Though exiles and pirates find loopholes for booty).
Yet still I believe that the wars and the royals
Shall wither away in the face of our toils,
So earn hard, oh Britain !, and fair-share the spoils –
For these are our Customs, and this is our Duty.

The Peasants are Revolting

So yes, alright, we held a vote,
That didn’t go our way –
But now we have to honour it ?
I never thought I’d hear the day
When self-proclaiming liberals
Have lost the great paternal arts !
Call ourselves the lefties ?
We’re just a bunch of bleeding hearts !
Just spin some condescending line
That this must be ignored.
After all, the citizens
As just some bolshy horde
Who never should have had the chance
To have a say at all, I say –
This braying and ungrateful mass
Are far too thick and grey.
And not forgetting racist !
They see us as a threat –
Let’s tell them how we hate them
At ev’ry chance we get.
But they pay no attention,
They’re trapped within their bubble –
They’ve listened to the wrong propaganda,
That’s the trouble.
But then again, it’s not their fault,
They have been swayed by clever lies –
They should have done what they were told
By those of us more calm and wise.
They’ve fallen for the passionate and positive
With not a sneer,
They swallowed ev’ry promise made,
Ignored our ev’ry scoff and smear.
Well yes, they have it hard – it can’t be helped,
There always must be fools
To stack the shelves and clean the loos,
And fill the special-measures schools –
But really, it’s their own fault, anyway,
That they’re so poor –
If only they would learn their place
And never ask for more !
Don’t they know we’re lefties ?
We’re the ones who really care –
We agonise about them over coffee,
Then we like and share.
But they are mindless zombies
Which the tabloids hold in thrall.
(Not us, of course, we see through that –
For we are special, after all.)
They’re flattered when a candidate had deemed to ask them
What they thought,
And dazzled when an orator had spoken up
For what they sought –
But most of all, confused at how
They finally possessed a voice –
And these are who we let loose with a vote ?
It’s anarchy by choice !