Class act


They freed us and gave us the vote the old slaves

Then took it away from us washing our brains

Papers and telly and babies and news

Distracting the fuck out of us fickle fools

Molehills are mountains, we suckered right in

Cattle us, prattle us, our morals so thin

Working class, flirting class, dreamless we proles

Don’t step out of station we’re born to our roles

Be you a different, be you so smart?

“Revolution” say you beating in your aching swelling heart?

Raise up your banner, join anti-fa!

Communist icons and anarchy scars

Go on then, rise up! We need it just go!

Gather in thousands, to the capital, let’s role!

Oh I see, “Just one last nice spliff”

Knee deep in joint butts, armchair revolutionary shits!

Free parties, MDMA, slaughtered all night

Still buggered to pieces in new morning light

The FUCK are you doing? C’mon, Time for war!

Ketty dribble, coke bogies, your comedown on the floor

A bloody fucking mess you are you trash

Three days you’re out from one nights lash

The revolution’s over because of you

The revolution will never come

Trapped we are forever men

To the ladies too “We’re doomed”

(But you don’t really give a fuck

Away you float on shrooms)

“Ouch, that’s hurtful dudelion

Don’t harsh my good vibes man” 

Sorry buddy, just being honest

You’re inert fixtures of this land

Slaves to your rebellion, counter-culture glue

You’re only as disruptive as gum on Tory shoes


Ire now turns to those old twats

Dickie bow ties in top hats


NO! Let’s start at the middle right
The business class Tories, traders and their like

Greedy rich cashin’s, to Thatcher your queen
The 80s did birth you, indulgences seen

Boom and bust tossers, market advert twats
Rolls and rolls of £20 notes stuffed under your flat cap

Lower taxes, fuck the poor
Amenable asset slobber lure

Listen here my kindred, for I am born of you
The middle isn’t squeezed you see, lessons here so true

This crunching, munching economy,
half mecha monster beast
Isn’t powered by the upper class,
It’s the middle consuming feasts

You are taught a standard of living
Is owed to you by twats
White goods, and many cars,
Big house, four dogs, three cats

Sweat your arse off climbing a ladder
Get home fucked, eat takeaways, get fatter

All your time to think is gone
So flick on the telly, see what’s on
Buy things, adverts, holiday shows
Here’s stuff to spend on, (you MVPest proles)

It’s you who spend your money
And earn it too in spades
The sad thing is you fickle bunch
None can you take to graves
Die on your mountain of gimmick goods
Behold this treasure you have made
The sad thing is you fickle bunch
You are the most enslaved

You are not squeezed you’re leaking
Too foolish to make the leap
The golden fleeced ruminant
The most valued of the sheep


Now the boil a simmer

Stiff upper lipped our rage

The true and proper monster class

Will grace this sharpened stage


Righty ho, old bully boys
good evening my lady grey
forthwith begins my examination
of you standing here today

Old you are, old families
so few become as you
the middle seldom make it here
the working beneath your shoes

Smart you are (or mostly)
but clueless, it must be said
your quiet world in empty mansions
big empty four poster beds

You’re disconnected, feaful
of those beasts that lay below
you give them many trifling bones
to distract them off of you

You don’t spend much money
you appreciate the calm
but did you ever consider this?

You’ve predetermined your own harm?

Very good, oh I must say
You sidestepped France’s fate
No guillotine for you great bunch
(It’s not avoided… it’s just late)

Money is like shit you see
It stinks in massive piles
But spread around on fields it brings
The crops and lots of smiles

Lived you have in heaven
The golden godly crew
But creatures are you simply
You’re helixes paired in twos

Dwindling is your gene pool
Thickening are your minds
Your dream world of fancies
Is falling from the sky

You found a corner, built a fort
and swindled “lesser minds”
but permanence is impossible
There is nowhere you can hide

Downsize your holdings my Lord
The proles  are wising to your bribe
You think the benefit system
Will forever hold these guys?

Do you think your propaganda papers?
Do you think your royal ties?
Do you think your police force army?
Will forever hold these guys?

You are not gods, you’re mortals
My brilliant minded twits
But if you don’t lower your pedestals
THEY will break it all to bits

Try to cultivate the patriots
Sown into the poor soil
But wars will only go so far
To keep you un-embroiled

Shallow scripts, and rat mazes
The distraction of the week
But rest assured good Tories
‘tis the string pullers they seek

Be careful with your fox hounds
You let them breed too much
Outnumber you by thousands
Have no more foxes?
Then YOU’RE the lunch!


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