Ant Smith


Our Daily Bread


Keep off the grass


Never-mind the gap

Spud-you-like, Spud-you-like, Spud-you-like

HE’S A -

Fuck-you-like, a

Fuck-you-like, a


He’s made of -

Cellulite, of Cellulite, of Cellulite

Tony Blair…….

Is a blow-up dolly,

A sinful Cindy,

Or latex-Liz,

Never-worked out how, they

Pinned on the wig,

But you know what I mean

His leers obscene,

And I think, he knows,

The twist.

Got a premonition

when Tony Blair is DEAD

our next prime minister’s

name’ll be Fred.

He’s decent sort of chap -

He eats white bread,

he drinks light ale

doesn’t like to let it get to his head.

He can smoke a pack of tabs

between ‘now’ and ‘then’

always says ‘hello’ as he goes

round the bend

in the leafy shady lane

leading to the middle of NOWHERE

Tell me what you want what you really really want

His sons not really such

a bad chap

They banged him up in borstal for

stealing car hub caps.

Now I don’t know about

anything like that

don’t understand no

legal-eagle clap-trap,

but it sounds a trifle-little-

too much

when at the age of twelve

they can lock you up.

Tell me what you want what you really really want

All the bastard judges, peers and Queens

to be, to be, to be

can learn to wear a

rubber condom

so that we, can be, can be, can be

free in generations to come.

And the fucking bastard political scum

can learn to keep it fucking stum.

for them that think that they’re really great

are nowt to me, but a sick disgrace.

So don’t encourage ‘em, or egg ‘em on

or you’ll rue the day this game begun.

Tell me what you want what you really really want

I’ll tell you what I want what I really really want

The less words spoken

the more things said

all the politicians act

as if they’re dead -

Don’t Vote.

Leave it up to folk like Fred,

We’ll get by,

Give us this day our daily bread…

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