Oh dear olde England

Oh dear olde England

What have they done

To your memory

Wrapped you in chains

Draped in the flags of the fallen

Sung patriotic songs in a fervour

Of psychotic passion

A different kind of Prom night

Carrie doesn’t live here anymore

Good manners lie in tatters

In shop doorways

Teenagers turn to gold on a BMX

As old dears in twinsets cheer

From the comfort of overstuffed sofas

Trying to connect the dots

Not all kids are bad losers

Bikes are not just used

As drug mules

Acrobatic getaway riders

Leaving a bobby or two

By the wayside

Gasping for air

Some of the probationers

Want to be armed

Bring martial law to the old girl

But it is in the hotchpotch of

Living cheek by jowl

We find our new heroes

Born from the loins of bone riders

As are the Valkyries that fly by

Boarded up windows

On sink estates at half past eight

On a Saturday

When the world used to stop for television

Before multi-screens

Were a tablet for the masses

And opiates were smoked in darkened rooms

Down Limehouse way

By Sherlock Holmes and other posh

Nice-but-dim tosspots

Bonfires are less than vanity

When the ad-men take over the world

The greenbelt is ever tightening

As the love we used to share

Is left to gather dust

In the space between one market

And another

Whilst hungry wolves circle

The wagons we thought brought us safety

The horses run wild

Civility is bartered for the price

Of a good cup of coffee

There is little trade in good grace

When a sense of fair play

Is a memory

The wonder of past glory

Is a selling point

For the obdurate who raise a glass

To the fallen

Whilst relieving themselves of the burden

Of conscience

Believing internationalism is defeatism

The only true Brit is a winner

Roast beef and two veg is a dinner

And the louder they shout

The more they will be understood

Not denounced

Oh dear olde England

What have they done to your soul

Run it up a flagpole

To the tune of Rule Britannia

Or god save the queen

And pissed on her bearskin.