IMMIGRANT BLUES
Oh,I say,its simply isn't right.
I came here to get away from them,
Blacks and Pakis - the whole bloody lot.
I found a delightful,little manor house,
tucked away in the countryside,
only to find another bloody lot,
talking a foreign language,
jabbering away as if it wasn't Britain,
saying that,because its Wales,its not!
There's no point in politics here,
They're so backward,all independents.
Its best to keep your head down and plot.
But,there still money to be made,
if you know which backs to scratch,
buy the land,quietly,and you can make a lot.
A few years ago, we had some local trouble.
Some peasants burnt down a few houses.
Insurance premiums went to pot!
But,they've quietened down recently.
In fact,they seem strangely silent,
but we've got them tamed,what?
The scenery's fine,the manor's mine
and we've taken over the local pub,
except Saturdays,when we get the local lot.
They're so rude, they even sing songs
in words I cannot understand.
I tell you,this country's going to rot!
THE SHEEP OF WALES
What do you see when you travel Wales?
Millons of sheep,all calmly grazing,
mouths munching platitudes of grass.
But there's millions of them,so,
what if they raised their political consciousness?
What power could they gain,
militant sheep,organised and educated,
resisting the slaughterhouses,boycotting the farmers,
challenging the sheepdogs?
What if they ran away,over the hills
and fought back by being absent
when the sheepdogs demanded their submission?
It would be a revolution of sheep
and what could be done about it?
Nothing,if they were properly organised!
Then,we might see some change,
with a liberation army of sheep
fighting a guerilla war for freedom!
Breaking through the fences that restrict them
they would discover their power,
remaking their lives,free from their rulers.
Sheep of Wales, unite!
You have nothing to lose
but your lives.
MILITARY YILLAGE,NEAR TIRABAD
Driving over Mynydd Eppynt,
it caught my eye,
Bavaria in Powys,
a British Army folly
Millions were spent
on these uninhabitable homes
for alien invaders,
a playground for killers.
Bizarre and empty,
this military village
is a hollow reminder
of our rulers' power.
Its unconcensecrated church towers
over empty concrete boxes
that the homeless might fight for,
far superior to the cardboard in Cardiff.
The Brutish Army built them,
to play out our nightmare,
rehearsing the death of Wales,
killing all resistance but the sheep.