... Wilko Johnson president

the sun shone.

Which was a start.

He walked into Parliament with a heart

full of honest intentions

and a Telecaster in his arms

and we were one nation under a groove

under a riff. A distinctive, choppy, furious,

down-and-dirty-and-your-momma-wouldn’t-like-it riff.

 

The day we elected Wilko Johnson president

the Commons rocked out in a way 

it hadn’t since Pitt the Younger’s solo

on a harpsichord he’d smuggled into the chamber

during the Poor Law debate

stilled the shouting 

knocked the discord dead

and became the stuff of legend.

But now we had amplification

and a lot more soul.

 

The day we elected Wilko Johnson president

we ditched the old national anthem

for the new. Some bloke from Canvey Island saying

Well, shit happens

80 000 people roared along at Wembley

the 5 Live commentator was still chuckling

when San Marino scored their second 

England lost 3-1.

No-one cared.

 

The day we elected Wilko Johnson president

we recognised that death

is just part of the cycle of life

it’s what you do with your time here that counts

we’re all just feathers blowing in the wind.

The Daily Mail was lost for words.
They hadn’t got an editorial for that.

 

The day we elected Wilko Johnson president

the sun shone.

Or it may have rained. 

I don’t know, I was drunk for a week

singing our three-word anthem

with strangers, then with friends

watching borders become meaningless

wealth become worthless

his simple words

I don’t wanna be greedy

echoing through my mind

like a Telecaster, riffing on sustain.