From Polls to Election

Oh Jeremy, Oh Jeremy,
what have you done?
No wonder your oppo’s
are looking so glum.
From Keir to Aneurin,
from Harold to John.
They’re scratching their heads
as to where it went wrong.
But your tribe, we still love you –
the left’s favourite son.
So hoist up that red flag
and keep staggering on.

Oh Jeremy, Oh Jeremy,
what a to do!
All of your oppo’s,
they’ve returned right on cue.
The streets of old England,
they no longer run blue.
And if only those papers
weren’t gunning for you,
you’d be dusting off cobwebs
with your socialist broom.
And that coward in kittens,
she’d be seen off real soon!

June, 2017



There are no bands,
Not a sound.
No trumpet blares a note.
But straight and fine,
sure and sharp.
We set off for our goal.

Smog has settled
and haunts the street,
a cobweb curling round.
Chokes the free,
strangles dreams
and muffles every sound.

We chose to differ
then grew as one,
to rest the common foe.
A million banners
took the stand
and freedom struck a blow

We spoke too loud.
Asked too much.
Took more than we should.
Held flags too high.
Stood too proud.
And spilt no enemies blood.

The virus grows,
attacks, we fall.
The pain burns deep inside.
No shadows fight.
No silenced talk.
Where can a nation hide?

1982, March

The Revolution Show

We’ve made the point many times before.
We’ve made it good and strong.
These capitalist kids can’t sort it out.
They just keep getting it wrong.

Start a revolution. Paint it red.
And build a workers throne.
Let’s shout and holler for all we’re worth.
Until the job is done.

Welfare State don’t worry us.
Comprehensive thing’s okay.
Hospital beds are a pain in the head.
But the reds will find a way.

Nationalize the lot. Tax them all.
And spread out what is left.
Let all the fascists make overalls.
And pardon all the reds.

And if the rich won’t dig, deport them all.
And show them were to go.
To the Channel Isles, on Morning Cloud.
Right after we’ve soaked them all.

The miners’ work is never done.
So we’ll fill up their pockets once more.
The car workers too. We’ll let them rule.
And line their management by the wall.

Yes, all’s okay. We’ve got a show.
The best for miles around.
The Kremlin likes us. China too.
And that is all that counts.

1975, June

Freedom Fighter

Caught in a mousetrap,
Can’t break those bars.
They’ve no big houses
And no fast cars.
Then an hero was found,
But very soon lost.
He took from the rich
At the poor man’s cost.
So they threw him hard
Through hell’s brass gate.
Went to his maker,
Got hanged in a jail.

1971, August