On Cable Street in ‘thirty-six

they said ¡No Pasarán! keeping Fascists at bay

with chamber-pots pouring, with fists kicks and bricks.

But on that hypocrites’s watch, in ‘twenty-three,

they said “¡Pasarán! it’s the Fascists field day”,

Spanish Nazis and Blackshirt admirers roamed free

on Preston’s streets, decency slayed;  

our ex-home secretary now protests for genocide,

...

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Vent your anger on people in small boats,

on long-haired gorgeous blokes, who like to wear skirts;

forget the yachts sailed by millionaire thieving scrotes,

forget who welcomed to the UK, Nazis and Blackshirts,

facts indeed are sacred, as someone said,

but only facts which the sewer chooses to reveal,

yes, no news is good news, what nearly thirty thousand dead?

targetted jour...

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Patriot?

Young Tommy didn’t get irony, cross,

he set off with the boneheads and boots

to guard statues of old Winston Churchill.

Signalling intent with their Nazi salutes.

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