As it is rememberence weekend, I just thought I would post you this, in honour of many a soldier!

 

                                                Oh the Hypocrisy

 

 

            Someone get me a cloth,

For someone shat on my screen!

 

I’m scoping now,

Scoping with a full magazine

Of thirty-two rounds –

The foresight blackened

By my gun oil to assassinate

The sceptics in the middle of the brow,

And hold it down……

…….not another socio politic

Wearing boots so far up the arse of

Critics you can even smell the brown.

 

            “They’re all on the same ego trip!”

Kicking spit an claiming muscle

But the hustle in the ruse

Is how do I offend thee

On a bruise and losing all his

Faculties,

            The Don of those exposed

Makes clever insignificance following

A stank, the septics have it cranked,

Flanked upon a parody of English

But thinking of the Yanks,

            Glenville High comedians

State facts I am believing in for

Harvey say’s,

                        “If you don’t know

Old school you’ve no soul.”

 

And Mike Ladd, New York’s finest

From the hood must be chuckling his

Guts at limeys,

                        Saying London

Cor Blimeys have no originality of their own!

 

            Take a fix,

Take a quick fix back in time

And find within the medium the

Messages sublime,

            Then sing a song of sixpence

For Britain’s missing undergraduates

List the occupations that are needed

And make yourself home-grown,

Or

Whistle Dixie lee,

Whistle Dixie lee and join

The confederacy and taking talking

All that jazz declare yourself

A hating for those you know

A nothing of but hurt,

                                    Your hurt!

Then throw away your descant

For originality of your own.

 

            My Arcs of Fire

Engage upon your spotlight

And keeping one eye open

My vision see’s you in the dark,

Seize you just for larks

            Like a bird of prey!

            Like a bird of prey!

Pray the birdie smiles at you

In photographic studios

Believe the rhetoric of veterans

For they know the battleground,

Know the hellish hounds

Snarling all vampirical

And lyrical in its content

            State your own catastrophe

In cacophony of verse,

The mirth worth shit

For an apple for a bribe –

A clever guarded reference

From a previous fall out line.

 

                        Tic – Toc

                        Tic – Toc

 

Time gentleman please,

Release the union of art form

Gather for the worm hole

We’re going through again!

 

            Watch and shoot,

            Watch and shoot,

Targets will fall, when hit!

 

            Bitch mad

            Rich clad

Doped drawn – skunked

And hemp roped skimp tote

And trip,

            Scat Up!

Herbalised, verbalised – chernobylized

Have you ever dashed through

Sarajevo’s market

While trumpets play a lasting post?

            What or whom gives you the right,

            To stand back

            Say fekk all but a cliché

            Tutting comments of the pacifist

            For the coward that you are,

            When you’re nowhere near but far?

            Nothing new experienced but claim the royalties of a bard?

            Claiming soldiers have no substance,

            Smoking green for freedom

            Highly flung and high fallutin

            I’m shooting off my rifle at this brand new ETR.

 

                                    “MAN, THEY’RE ALL ON THE SAME EGO TRIP!”

 

                                                            There are soldiers,

                                                            From meek fekked up beginnings,

                                                            Who care deep in understanding

                                                            For the progress of The Earth,

                                                            And to be a World Policeman

                                                            Takes more than courage from a pint,

                                                            It’s knowing when to fight,

                                                                        MAG ON,

                                                                        MAG OFF,

                                                                        MAKE SAFE,          

                                                                        Saving peoples of division

                                                                        That exists within themselves,

 

                                                                        From holocaust

                                                                        To genocide,

                                                                        From jungles and to deserts,

                                                                        From mountains down to swamps,

                                                                                    The Cooks,

                                                                                    The Guards,

                                                                                    The Infantries,

                                                                                    The Engineer

                                                                                    The Signals

                                                                                    Are there because of heart.

 

You sit there as Civilians and shout abhorrence’s of war,

But of all the wars the soldier fights,

                        It’s the elect, who put them there,

                                    And who elects the government

                                                Of each premiere you boast?

                                                            And from where within society

                                                                        Does this premiere have roots?

                                                                                    From within the clan civilian

Who run a brother off

To shoot!

 

GET SHOT!

FLY HOME CASKETIZED SO YOU CAN SAY,

 

“AYE, HE WERE A GOOD MAN,

LET’S HAVE ANOTHER POP AT POLITICS

AND CLAIM THE HIGHER GROUND!”

 

(Round and round the garden, the ragged rascal ran,

Round and round the garden, the ragged rascal ran,

Round and round the garden, the ragged rascal ran,

Round and round the garden, the ragged rascal ran

Round and round the garden, the ragged rascal ran)!

 

 

 

Michael J Waite 2nd January 2010.

 

Both words and music are by myself. Have a great day on Sunday y'all.