TWAT WITH A
FLAG
There’s a twat with a flag who lives down our road;
he raises his flag every day.
It’s an eyesore, a blemish, a flapping carbuncle
that boils the blood as it waves.
It’s tacky, it’s nonsense, it’s vile, it’s guff –
I tell you, there’s nought to redeem here.
A sad piece of cack with the Union Jack -
put simply, it’s Poundland ephemera.
I s’pose that he thinks we all should applaud him
as a patriot, dyed-in-the-wool
But for some of us punters, it’s zeal by numbers:
a red rag in front of a bull.
In terms of aesthetic, it’s fucking pathetic –
an affront to the casual observer.
Does he think when I see it I’ll start to salute,
whipped into a nationalist fervour…?
It’s twee nostalgie, a thing of the past;
outmoded, like Great British Bake-Off.
It’s not even fit now to use as bog-roll
’cos you’d wipe more shit on than you take off…!
I thought about knocking on to try and get it gone -
but to be honest, it ain’t worth the hassle.
He'll say it’s his right to exhibit that shite,
’cos an Englishman’s home is his castle.
Yes, like Gilbert and Sullivan! ’E is an Englishman! So let’s take a few lines
to examine:
a man out of place going red in the face now that Larkin’s been purged from the
canon…
A Telegraph reader who thinks that Farage has got some ideas worth
hearing.
A man of the past with a stick up his ass, who thinks his way of life’s disappearing.
He longs for the days when the Empire reigned, and England did roar like a
lion;
I bet that his name’s probably Douglas, or Clive, or Kenneth, or Gordon, or Brian.
On BBC News, he detects left-wing views, and leaps up from his seat like a
salmon
He’s got half a mind to go on Question Time, and huff, sulk and fume
like a gammon.
“It’s a form of sophistry - you can’t rewrite history
with all of these things that you’re banning!
Why can I no longer watch Love Thy Neighbour,
or laugh along with Bernard Manning…?!”
Flipping the channel, he's teeming with rage
and quickly becoming quite stroppy;
There’s a disabled reporter on Channel 4 News,
and Krishnan’s not wearing a poppy…!
There’s kids of all ages renouncing slave traders -
he's claiming now everything’s wrong!
To compound his rut, ‘Rule Britannia’ gets cut
from the very last night of the Proms…
“I’m not being racist, I’m just stating facts –
this diversity drive’s gone too far.”
Sir, why are you like this?! And please stop pipping cyclists
whenever you’re out in your car…!
Then he's off on a bender ‘bout gays and ‘bout gender,
and how all young men have gone soft
Omitting one thing: there’s a shrine to the King
that he wanks over up in his loft.
“All these ‘woke footballers’ aren’t real men,
like Tom Finney and Sir Stanley Matthews.
We need to get back on a well-beaten track,
and reclaim some good old-fashioned values…!”
“Zulu, Dam Busters, then afternoon tea,
Then Bake Off - you really can’t beat it.”
But just like those Tories stuck in 1940,
it’s time to have your cake and eat it.
See, why is it - that when you raise a flag in salute to the nation,
it feels suspiciously like a rank provocation?
An act of aggression and intimidation
masquerading as innocent, blithe celebration.
Because quite aside from being a local embarrassment,
it feels to so many like just plain harassment.
An icon which props up a legacy of violence
that finds current form when they demonise migrants…
’Cos it’s an unspoken code with a built-in payload
when you display Jubilee bunting
It says they’ve got your vote if they “stop the small boats”
and show their support for fox-hunting…
It says, “Don’t come round here if you’re black, brown or queer -
Britain’s not meant for people like you.”
A dog-whistle, to reactionary trolls in pubs with golly dolls
who claim whites are now last in the queue.
Complicit in history, ignoring its feats, we return to the scene of the crime
’Cos contained in the hues of that red, white and blue are a tale that’s older than
time.
Jackboots on the street as a steady drumbeat sounds out like a dull metronome
The right-wing’s Greatest Hits: it’s “Britain for Brits”
- and if you don’t like it, go home.
A flag should be a monument, an effigy, a totem
So why does it feel like you’re whipping out your scrotum…?
Flaunting your values by waving your cock: the ultimate true virtue-signal.
Oh, Johnny Big-Bollocks, we’re all so impressed – in fact, no, no, no,
no, it’s just dismal.
So while your flag’s up there, I think it’s only fair
that we finally establish some ground-rules.
Principally this - you’re taking the piss;
patriotism’s the refuge of scoundrels.
I’ll go one further, son: when all’s said and done,
I submit that it makes you a coward.
As you grovel, belittled, you fucking lickspittle,
let’s consider the few it empowers.
I don’t think it disloyal when I see a “Royal”,
to enter a state of thrombosis.
So let me stand unopposed while I now diagnose
our sad fucking national psychosis.
See, under the banner of country and crown,
their misdeeds are all merely “alleged”:
like Andrew’s been fucking 14-year-old girls
while William was out getting pegged…!
(You won’t read about that in the papers;
to mention it would be ill-mannered.
The tabloids, alas, give him a free pass
as a “sorry” for killing Diana.)
We’re told “they work for us”, and are “here to serve” -
well I should fucking hope so, at those rates;
‘Cos they’ve taken far more than their reasonable share,
like Alan Partridge with his massive plate…!
If these freeloading fucks were all my employees, then they wouldn’t be
getting a reference.
File all Royals next to landlords and bosses as those who we grant undue
deference.
They’ll tell you they’re “good for the tourists”,
and that we always must respect tradition.
But to accept that these ghouls are destined to rule
is a doctrine that is nowhere written.
But that’s the system we use here to quantify worth:
inherited privilege from an accident of birth.
And I submit that it should never be thought sedition
to question, critique or tear down tradition.
See, “tradition” is man-made – and thus, can be changed:
it’s a conclusion that’s never foregone.
Like archaic law, we can show it the door -
and we should, when its tenets are wrong.
You wouldn’t hand Darth Vader a second lightsabre
when he’s got you under attack
So kindly stop showing support for the Royals
’cos that’s how the Empire strikes back…!
As for our sick-hearted country – your “pride” and your “joy”
I tell you, there’s something obscene
When we can’t find the money to feed starving kids
but we’ll stand in a line for the Queen.
What is this fixation with bowing and scraping
built into our national character?
I am begging you, please – get up off your knees
’cos the whole sad charade’s an embarrassment.
It’s a mystery to confound Sam Spade and Philip Marlowe -
with a soundtrack that’s provided by Gary fucking Barlow.
And so to our friend who lives just up the roady.
A lackey, a suck-up, a fawner, a toady
Who’ll stand and applaud when two Royals marry;
though not for the offspring of Megan and Harry…
’Cos a flag is an emblem that wears many faces;
to my mind, it serves only to embolden racists.
There aren’t words to convey why that rag you display
is considered now such an affront
But I’ve got some that’ll do, so here’s just a few:
you fuckwit, you braggart, you cunt…
You’re a small man, sir - among the tiniest, in fact;
your subservience is a national disgrace.
Do not lick the heel of the boot
that stands upon your face.
