BARD RECORDS

Tag: Lyrics

  • Officially Speaking

    Officially Speaking

    Data-driven government.
    Until somebody asks for the data.

    Officially Speaking was written after yet another run of parliamentary answers where ministers insisted they simply didn’t hold the information being requested. Britain can apparently tell you everything about your tax return, your benefits, your driving licence and the exact date your wheelie bin should be outside. Ask how much a policy costs, who benefits from it or how many people it affects, however, and Whitehall suddenly discovers a remarkable enthusiasm for the phrase “not held centrally.” It’s a song about the strange point where transparency becomes remarkably opaque, and evidence-led government develops a very convenient memory problem.

    ► BUY
    EVIDENCE

    Facts are important.
    Transparency matters.
    Trust must be earned.
    Apparently.

    Count every penny
    Count every car
    Count every journey
    Count where we are

    Count every worker
    Count every home
    Count every detail
    They want to know

    Ask what it costs
    Ask where it went
    Ask who came in
    Ask what was spent

    Suddenly numbers
    Are terribly hard
    Funny how data
    Can catch us off guard

    Not held centrally
    Not kept that way
    Not in the figures
    We’ve got today

    Officially speaking
    Everything’s fine
    Nothing to worry about
    Nothing to find

    Officially speaking
    Nothing is known
    Nobody counted it
    Leave it alone

    Led by the data
    That’s what they say
    Right up until
    The data gets
    In the fucking way

    Housing is measured
    Waiting lists grow
    Who gets the houses?
    Harder to know

    Crime gets recorded
    Forms get complete
    Ask for the breakdown
    Watch the retreat

    Benefits counted
    Payments go through
    Ask what it costs us
    No useful view

    Millions of records
    Filed every day
    None of the answers
    Quite stored that way

    Not held centrally
    Not broken down
    Not something measured
    For this part of town

    Officially speaking
    Everything’s fine
    Nothing to worry about
    Nothing to find

    Officially speaking
    Nothing is known
    Nobody counted it
    Leave it alone

    Led by the data
    That’s what they say
    Right up until
    The data gets
    In the fucking way

    They know what you earn
    They know what you owe
    They know when you’re late
    They know where you go

    They’ll find every penny
    They say you should pay
    They’ll send you a letter
    Before the next day

    But measure the changes
    We all plainly see
    And Britain’s great machine
    Develops amnesia

    Strange little illness
    Strange little trick
    Ask the wrong question
    The numbers go sick

    Not in our remit
    Not in that form
    Not something tracked
    Not quite the norm

    Further research
    May be required
    Records incomplete
    Systems expired

    Nothing concealed
    Nothing denied

    Nothing available
    Either, mind

    How many?
    Not held.

    How much?
    Not known.

    Who paid?
    Not clear.

    Who’s waiting?
    Unknown.

    Officially speaking
    Everything’s fine
    Trust in the system
    Trust in the line

    Officially speaking
    Nothing went wrong
    We’ve simply no figures
    To prove you belong

    Led by the data
    Proudly proclaimed
    Until there’s a number
    That somebody
    Might have to explain

    Transparent.
    Accountable.
    Evidence-led.

    We don’t hold that information.

    Officially speaking.

  • Still Me

    Still Me

    Nothing dramatic.
    Just several increasingly specific requirements.

    Still Me is about the point where preferences quietly become policy. Somewhere along the way, comfortable chairs started mattering, parking became part of the planning and nine-thirty acquired the atmosphere of a minor emergency. None of this counts as getting older, obviously. It is simply the result of spending years discovering exactly what works, then becoming understandably suspicious of anyone suggesting something else. Same person. Same carefree spirit. Just send the postcode first.

    ► BUY
    OBSERVED BEHAVIOUR

    Nothing dramatic.
    Just preferences.

    Used to leave the house on impulse, now I like a little warning.
    Ask me Friday about the weekend, that’s already fairly short notice.

    Somewhere quiet would be lovely, somewhere I can hear the table.
    Somewhere chairs were built for sitting, not a test of core stability.

    Nothing changed. I’m still me.
    Just ideally home by three.

    I’m not getting old, I’m getting particular.
    Still up for anything, just nothing too spontaneous.

    Give me a postcode, a time and somewhere sane.
    Nothing’s really different.
    I’ve just changed nearly everything.

    I have opinions now on pillows.
    Apparently that happened.
    I’ve compared two brands of slippers
    and meant every word with passion.

    Weather used to be background.
    Now it affects proceedings.
    Parking used to sort itself out.
    Now it’s part of the meeting.

    Still relaxed. Still carefree.
    Just send the postcode first to me.

    I’m not getting old, I’m getting particular.
    Still up for anything, just nothing too spontaneous.

    Give me a postcode, a time and somewhere sane.
    Nothing’s really different.
    I’ve just changed nearly everything.

    There’s a mug I quite like using.
    No, the other one is wrong.
    There’s a route I always take now.
    No, I don’t need something new.

    I’ve spent years finding what works.
    Why would I start over for you?

    Plans cancelled? Terrible shame.
    I’d already changed my clothes though,
    so perhaps another day.

    Nine-thirty sounds quite late now.
    That’s apparently where we are.
    And I’ve caught myself saying,
    “We’ve got perfectly good food.”

    Still the same. Still alive.
    Just don’t make me leave at five.

    I don’t need much.

    A bit of notice.
    Somewhere quiet.
    Easy parking.
    No surprises.

    And apparently…

    a specific mug.

    I’m not getting old, I’m getting particular.
    Still up for anything, just nothing too spontaneous.

    Give me a postcode, a time and somewhere sane.
    Nothing’s really different.
    I’ve just changed nearly everything.

    I’m not getting old.
    Let’s not make this weird.

    I just think nine-thirty’s late.

    And turn that down.
    It’s ridiculous.

  • Department For Watching Dinghies

    Department For Watching Dinghies

    Welcome to the Department for Watching Dinghies.
    Please do not confuse watching with stopping.

    Department For Watching Dinghies was inspired by the reassuring discovery that Britain now has a Border Security Command capable of detecting, monitoring, reviewing and, occasionally, investigating why a boat has already arrived on the beach. Two uncontrolled landings on consecutive days produced the traditional response: concern, condemnation and an urgent review. The people responsible for border security were promptly asked to investigate what had gone wrong with border security, presumably after checking nobody else had been put in charge of it while they weren’t looking. Elsewhere, Border Force vessels were unavailable for another Channel incident, so the Coastguard called the RNLI. A charity turned up before the machinery of the state. Then came perhaps the finest reassurance of all: you can’t stop everything all of the time. Quite right. Nobody expects perfection. We had simply assumed the organisation called Border Security Command might occasionally lean towards the security part. Still, the drones can watch, the radar can detect, the screens can monitor and the Government can review. If all else fails, somebody can always stand on the beach and count them in. Welcome to the Department for Watching Dinghies. Please enjoy the view.


    ► BUY
    EVIDENCE

    We had a Border Force already
    Apparently that wouldn’t do

    So we formed a bigger command
    With a bigger title too

    Radar watching
    Drones above us
    Screens across the land

    Monday one
    Tuesday two

    Both arrived
    upon the sand

    Monitor
    Detect
    Intercept
    Respond

    Very impressive wording

    Something’s
    clearly gone wrong

    Welcome to the Department
    For Watching Dinghies

    Watching Dinghies
    Watching Dinghies

    Watch them leave
    Watch them cross
    Watch them coming into view

    Then watch them reach the beach

    And launch
    an urgent review

    Home Secretary
    Hits the roof

    “This is not acceptable”

    Orders Border Security Command

    To investigate itself

    Find the flaw
    Write the report
    Promise better next time

    “You can’t stop everything
    all of the time”

    Oh.

    Everything’s fine.

    Review
    Report
    Explain
    Respond

    Nothing says
    “We’re in control”

    Like asking
    what went wrong

    Welcome to the Department
    For Watching Dinghies

    Watching Dinghies
    Watching Dinghies

    Watch them leave
    Watch them cross
    Watch them coming into view

    Then watch them reach the beach

    And launch
    an urgent review

    Border vessels unavailable.

    Coastguard calls the lifeboats.

    Charity arrives.

    State arrives later.

    Excellent command.

    Can’t stop boats?

    Create a taskforce

    Taskforce fails?

    Create command

    Command falls short?

    Commission findings

    Findings say:

    Create a plan

    New surveillance
    New technology

    Lessons learned
    We understand

    Funny how securing borders

    Needs everything

    Except
    securing them

    Welcome to the Department
    For Watching Dinghies

    Watching Dinghies
    Watching Dinghies

    Monitor
    Detect

    Observe
    Admire

    Track them all the way

    Then meet them on the sand

    And proudly say

    “You can’t stop everything
    all of the time.”

    Perhaps…

    Border Observation Command?

    No.

    Bit too honest.

  • 160

    160

    The Skills Revolution is underway.
    All 160 of them.

    160 was inspired by the sort of government announcement that arrives with banners, strategies, toolkits and enough triumphant language to suggest Brunel has risen from the grave and started taking apprentices. The ambition is up to 30,000 foundation apprenticeship starts over this Parliament. Eight months into the figures, there were 160. Not 16,000. Not 1,600. One hundred and sixty. You could launch the revolution from a moderately ambitious village hall and still have chairs left over. Naturally, there are promotional materials, employer factsheets and social-media assets to help things along, because when young people need actual opportunities, nothing gets the blood pumping quite like a downloadable toolkit. The funny part is the enormous distance between the announcement and the number. The less funny part is that behind every grand promise are young people waiting for somebody to deliver it. Still, early days. Thirty thousand are coming. Apparently. In the meantime, Finger Puppet Monthly sends its condolences.


    ► BUY
    EVIDENCE

    Sound the drums
    Unfurl the flag
    Britain’s skills are fighting back

    Thirty thousand
    That’s the plan
    Transform the workforce
    While we can

    Eight months in
    The figures came

    One hundred and sixty
    Joined the game

    Not quite the army
    We had in mind

    But revolutions
    Take some time

    Launch the vision
    Print the plan
    Tell the press
    It’s all in hand

    Transformation
    Has begun

    All one hundred
    And sixty-one…

    Sorry.

    One hundred and sixty.

    THE SKILLS REVOLUTION!
    Britain leads the way

    Thirty thousand opportunities
    Are coming any day

    Raise the flag
    Sound the drums
    Tell the nation change has come

    The Skills Revolution marches on

    All
    one hundred
    and sixty
    of them

    Finger Puppet Monthly
    Sent a note today

    “Sorry about your numbers.
    Hope they pick up, anyway.”

    The Left-Handed Spoon Society
    Booked a larger room

    Competitive Shed Painting
    Had to add another Zoom

    Piddington held a referendum
    Three hundred turned up there

    Labour launched a revolution

    And couldn’t fill
    the village square

    Book a venue
    Nothing grand

    Someone’s nan
    Has got some land

    Cancel Wembley
    Cancel Leeds

    Her gazebo
    Should meet our needs

    THE SKILLS REVOLUTION!
    Britain leads the way

    Thirty thousand opportunities
    Are coming any day

    Raise the flag
    Sound the drums
    Tell the nation change has come

    The Skills Revolution marches on

    All
    one hundred
    and sixty
    of them

    Only one hundred and sixty?

    Launch a toolkit.

    Still one hundred and sixty?

    Employer factsheet.

    Still?

    Social media assets.

    Still?

    PowerPoint.

    Still?

    Add an incentive.

    Still?

    Perhaps the revolution
    Hasn’t seen the email.

    Don’t call it “slow”
    Call it “early”

    Don’t say “tiny”
    Say “emerging”

    Don’t say “nobody turned up”
    Say “initial cohort”

    Don’t say “where the fuck are they?”

    Say…

    “Further engagement
    and promotional activity
    is planned.”

    Nearly a million young people
    Waiting for a start

    Government promises a ladder
    Then forgets the bottom part

    Thirty thousand on the banner
    One-six-zero through the door

    Plenty learned the first great lesson:

    Don’t believe
    the brochure

    THE SKILLS REVOLUTION!
    Britain leads the way

    Thirty thousand opportunities
    Are coming any day

    Raise the flag
    Sound the drums
    Tell the nation change has come

    The Skills Revolution marches on

    One hundred and sixty strong

    THE SKILLS REVOLUTION!

    Thirty thousand planned!

    THE SKILLS REVOLUTION!

    One hundred and sixty
    actually came

    Don’t worry.

    There’s a toolkit.

  • Thank God For The Newts!

    Thank God For The Newts!

    Thank God for the newts.
    Someone remembered where the border is.

    Thank God for the Newts was inspired by the extraordinary spectacle of a protected species succeeding where successive governments appear to have struggled. When politicians promise stronger borders while migrants continue arriving, it takes an endangered amphibian to accidentally halt progress. RebelliousBard doesn’t blame the newts. They’re simply doing what nature intended. The joke is that a creature weighing a few grams can apparently enforce a line more effectively than an entire political class. Somewhere between environmental law, immigration policy and official priorities, satire quietly gave up trying to exaggerate. The newts carried on regardless.

    ► BUY
    EVIDENCE

    Population, three hundred and something.
    Proposed arrivals, twelve hundred and fifty-six.

    Consultation complete.

    Apparently.

    Whitehall found a little village
    Quiet place, not much around
    Perfect spot for twelve hundred men
    Four times everyone in town

    Don’t say migrants, that’s divisive
    “Twelve hundred men” is more correct
    Though strangely when they wore uniforms
    Nobody seemed quite so upset

    Residents said, “This seems excessive”
    Government said, “Concerns are heard”
    Which is Whitehall for “Thanks for writing”
    “We’ll completely disregard”

    So they held a referendum
    This was apparently Plan B
    If Westminster won’t listen
    Piddington will simply leave

    Raise the flag
    Declare the state
    Print the passports
    Shut the gate

    Three hundred people
    Standing proud

    Independent Britain
    With a slightly smaller crowd

    Westminster remained strangely calm
    About losing sovereignty

    Funny.

    That used to be
    quite important.

    Thank God for the newts
    Thank God for the newts

    The people weren’t sufficient
    But the amphibians might do it

    You can plead
    You can vote
    You can march
    You can shout

    But find a protected species
    And the lawyers all come out

    Thank God for the newts
    Britain’s finest little troops

    The village couldn’t stop it

    Thank God
    for the fucking newts

    Then the politicians smelled it
    So naturally they came

    Everyone opposed the chaos
    Everyone assigned the blame

    Rupert came to back the village
    Reform came to make its case
    Suella came to inspect the mess
    With an interestingly straight face

    Former Home Secretary
    Touring immigration’s wake

    Standing by the consequences
    Looking shocked at what they make

    Then the patriots weren’t welcome
    Then the arguments began

    Who is authorised to protest?
    Please consult the protest plan

    Wrong support
    Wrong campaign
    Wrong objection
    Try again

    Everybody wants the cameras
    Nobody accepts the blame

    Thank God for the newts
    Thank God for the newts

    The people weren’t sufficient
    But the amphibians might do it

    You can plead
    You can vote
    You can march
    You can shout

    But find a protected species
    And the lawyers all come out

    Thank God for the newts
    Britain’s finest little troops

    The village couldn’t stop it

    Thank God
    for the fucking newts

    Then the village found its villain
    Living somewhere down the lane

    Neighbours calling neighbours racist
    That should calm things down again

    Welcome people
    Welcome strangers
    Tolerance is what we need

    Just don’t question scale or numbers
    That’s apparently bigotry

    Meanwhile Piddington has left us
    Constitutionally unclear

    Nobody told the King about it
    But independence starts from here

    They’ve got borders
    They’ve got voters
    They’ve got outrage
    They’ve got press

    All they need’s a currency

    And someone competent, I guess

    Then…

    A pond.

    A ripple.

    Something moved.

    Stop the meeting.

    What’s that?

    Great crested newt.

    Protected?

    Very.

    Oh.

    Fuck.

    Three hundred residents?

    Not decisive.

    Two hundred and eighty-five votes?

    Advisory.

    Council objections?

    Under consideration.

    Local infrastructure?

    Being assessed.

    Great crested newt?

    EVERYBODY
    STOP
    WHAT
    YOU’RE
    FUCKING
    DOING.

    Thank God for the newts
    Thank God for the newts

    Democracy was optional
    But wildlife legislation isn’t

    You can plead
    You can vote
    You can beg
    You can scoot

    But never underestimate
    A legally protected newt

    Thank God for the newts
    Britain’s last effective troops

    Forget the village referendum

    Send in
    the fucking newts

    Residents consulted.
    Concerns acknowledged.
    Democracy respected.

    Development proceeding.

    Subject, naturally,

    to the newts.

  • It’s Normal Now

    It’s Normal Now

    Apparently this is normal now.
    Handy, that.

    It’s Normal Now looks at the little behaviours everyone quietly adopted while insisting nothing much had changed. Accept the terms, rate the experience, track the sleep, trust the screen and carry on. None of it arrived with a grand announcement. It just became routine, then sensible, then somehow obvious. The clever bit is how quickly people stop asking who decided any of it in the first place.

    ► BUY
    OBSERVED BEHAVIOUR

    They said you’d get used to it.
    They were right.

    Read the terms
    Skip the page
    Click accept
    Carry on

    Rate the meal
    Rate the ride
    Rate the service
    Rate the night

    Count your steps
    Track your sleep
    Give it things
    You used to keep

    No alarms
    Nothing strange
    No one noticed
    When it changed

    Nobody planned it
    Nobody knew
    Nobody asked
    Nobody objected

    It’s normal now
    That’s what we say
    Nobody asks
    Who made it that way

    It’s normal now
    Perfectly fine
    Nobody remembers
    Who drew the line

    Busy means
    Doing well
    If it climbs
    All is well

    More choice
    More control
    More opinions
    Less of your own

    Trust the number
    Trust the screen
    Trust whatever
    Fits the routine

    If it works
    Don’t ask why
    Keep it moving
    Let it slide

    Maybe it’s better
    Maybe it’s not
    Funny how quickly
    We all forgot

    It’s normal now
    That’s what we say
    Nobody asks
    Who made it that way

    It’s normal now
    Perfectly fine
    Nobody remembers
    Who drew the line

    Busy looks important.
    Silence looks wise.
    More looks better.

    Nobody decided.
    Nobody objected.

    We just…

    carried on.

    It’s normal now
    Nothing to see
    Just another version
    Of how things should be

    It’s normal now
    So we repeat
    What everybody knows
    Because everybody agrees

    It’s normal now
    Perfectly fine
    Nobody remembers
    Who drew the line

    It’s normal…

    Until someone…

    Calls it strange.

  • Full Force Of The Law

    Full Force Of The Law

    Full force of the law.
    Again.

    Full Force of the Law was written after ministers, including Home Secretary Yvette Cooper and Justice Secretary Shabana Mahmood, warned that anyone involved in anti-migrant protests would face “the full force of the law.” For RebelliousBard, the phrase has become a familiar piece of political theatre: a warning delivered with absolute certainty whenever public anger over immigration spills onto the streets. The song doesn’t argue with the existence of the law. It questions the selective confidence with which politicians promise to use it, and why so many people already feel they know exactly who those warnings are aimed at before a single arrest has been made.

    ► BUY
    EVIDENCE

    Full force of the law.
    Funny how you already know
    who that’s meant for.

    Every time they say it
    You already know the score
    “Full force of the law”
    Coming through the door

    Never said with quiet confidence
    Always dressed for the news
    Another podium warning
    Another enemy to choose

    Funny how the phrase appears
    Right on cue, right on time
    Whenever British voices gather
    And step outside the line

    Same old script
    Same old play
    Different minister
    Different day

    Full force of the law

    That’s the line they draw

    Not for every broken promise
    Not for every open door

    Full force of the law

    Always loud and proud

    Point it at the taxpayer

    Before the shouting crowd

    Legitimate anger
    Gets renamed hate
    Concern becomes extremism
    The moment you congregate

    Flags become suspicious
    Questions become wrong
    Working-class frustration
    Becomes another headline song

    You don’t need a trial
    You don’t need a charge
    Just wait until a minister
    Decides you’ve gone too far

    Hear the words

    Before they’re said

    Same old sentence

    Different head

    Full force of the law

    That’s the line they draw

    Never short of warnings
    Never short of awe

    Full force of the law

    Another practiced pose

    Funny how it’s always aimed
    Exactly where it goes

    Full force?

    Try full borders.

    Full force?

    Try full prisons.

    Full force?

    Try deporting criminals.

    Try protecting towns.

    Try protecting the people
    Who paid for all of this.

    See?

    We’ve all got a wish list.

    Every speech sounds identical
    Every warning reads the same
    Different logo
    Different podium
    Same old government game

    If strength only exists
    When speaking to your own
    Don’t call it leadership
    Call it staying safely home

    Full force of the law

    That’s the line they draw

    Another television promise
    Another little war

    Full force of the law

    Just remember when

    Some governments fear
    Their own working men

    Full force of the law

    Say it once again

    Funny how you never need
    To tell us
    Who you meant.

    Full force…

    Of the law.

    You said it.

    We heard it.

  • I’m Doing Fine

    I’m Doing Fine

    Doing fine is one thing.
    Wanting them to notice is another.

    I’m Doing Fine is about that slightly inconvenient stage of moving on when life really has got better, but you haven’t become quite as indifferent as you’d like to think. The routines have changed, the room feels like yours again and hearing their name doesn’t ruin the day anymore. That’s progress. Still hoping they occasionally realise what they lost? Apparently, that can come along for the ride.

    ► BUY
    THOUGHTS, MOSTLY

    I’m up before the alarm
    Got somewhere I need to be
    I don’t check the other pillow
    Before I make the tea

    I finally changed the bedroom round
    Your side is mine as well
    I don’t rehearse what I would say
    If somebody asked how I felt

    I’m not saying I’m over it
    I’m saying it doesn’t decide
    What kind of morning I’m having
    Or who I’m seeing tonight

    I’m doing fine
    Better every day
    I’m doing fine
    That’s all I gotta say
    But when you’re alone
    I hope you feel my name
    I’m doing fine
    And I hope you regret that day

    I bought the shoes you would’ve said
    I’d never really wear
    Wore them out last Friday night
    Without hearing your opinion

    I heard you’re seeing someone else
    From someone who would know
    I smiled a little too quickly
    Then asked where we should go

    I’m not saying it’s perfect
    I still have the odd bad day
    But I don’t ask how you’re doing
    When somebody says your name

    I’m doing fine
    Better every day
    I’m doing fine
    That’s all I gotta say
    But when you’re alone
    I hope you feel my name
    I’m doing fine
    And I hope you regret that day

    Maybe when somebody asks you
    Why we couldn’t make it last
    You hesitate a second
    Before rewriting all the facts

    I’m doing fine
    Better every day
    I’m doing fine
    That’s all I gotta say
    But when you’re alone
    I hope you feel my name
    I’m doing fine
    And I hope you regret that day

    I’m doing fine
    Better every day
    I’m doing fine
    Most of the way
    I don’t want you back
    I just want you to say
    I’m doing fine
    And I hope you regret that day

  • Stop The (Orange) Boats

    Stop The (Orange) Boats

    Charity begins at home.
    Apparently it ends in the Channel.

    Stop the (Orange) Boats reflects the growing backlash against the RNLI’s role in transporting Channel migrants to Britain. For many people, the orange lifeboat has shifted from a symbol of traditional maritime rescue to one of immigration policy by proxy. RebelliousBard doesn’t argue that donations should be compulsory expressions of virtue. Quite the opposite. If a charity chooses a mission that donors no longer support, donors are equally free to close their wallets. The song is less about lifeboats than it is about consent: who decides where charitable money should ultimately end up, and what happens when the public simply says, “No more.”

    ► BUY
    EVIDENCE

    Orange boat
    Collection tin
    Save a life
    Bring them in

    Orange boat, white lie, collection tin
    “Saving lives” while they bring them in
    Not a storm, not a wreck, not lost at sea
    They left from France deliberately
    Two ports said no and the truth got thin
    Found a slipway, walked them in
    Coaches waiting, system alive
    Another successful rescue
    Apparently.

    You can stop a hull when you want it stopped
    You can land a hull when you want it dropped
    Call it mercy, call it grace
    Just don’t shake that tin in my fucking face

    Don’t put a penny in the tin
    Don’t buy the halo, don’t swallow the hymn
    They’re not lost sailors, they’re not the drowned
    They’re a taxi with a saintly sound
    You don’t know who’s coming through
    You don’t know what they’ve come here to do
    Then ask the British public to pay?
    Not one penny.
    Not today.

    High-vis angels on the evening news
    Orange jackets, same excuse
    Tasked by Coastguard, off they go
    Pick them up and bring them home
    No papers needed out at sea
    No background check, no guarantee
    Rapists and killers have crossed this way
    But I’m the bastard if I won’t pay

    Call them heroes
    Call me cruel
    Funny little funding rule
    You choose the mission
    You choose the game
    I choose whether I finance the same

    Don’t put a penny in the tin
    Don’t buy the halo, don’t swallow the hymn
    They’re not lost sailors, they’re not the drowned
    They’re a taxi with a saintly sound
    Name it plain so the room goes still
    Migrant traffickers
    With a charity till

    Once that orange boat meant hope
    Storm at sea and a rescue rope
    Fisherman missing, yacht gone down
    Launch the crew and bring them round
    That’s the tin that Britain filled
    That’s the trust that Britain built
    Now the Channel changed the deal
    And donors get to say how they feel

    Voluntary means I choose
    That’s the bit you seem to lose
    Want my money?
    Change the route
    Otherwise
    Count me out.

    They’ll sell you a drowning
    That never quite was
    They’ll sell you a halo
    For doing the job
    They’ll call it compassion
    They’ll call it the law
    While another orange hull
    Heads back for the shore
    And if asking where my money goes
    Makes me heartless
    Fine.
    My wallet seems remarkably calm.

    Keep the posters
    Keep the plea
    Keep your direct debit away from me
    No collection
    No applause
    No compulsory charitable cause
    If enough of Britain shuts the tin
    Maybe somebody finally listens

    Don’t put a penny in the tin
    Don’t fund the boats that bring them in
    Don’t buy the halo, don’t swallow the hymn
    Orange outside, border service within
    Call them heroes if that’s your view
    Put your own bloody money through
    Mine stays firmly where it’s been
    Not one penny
    In the tin.

    Keep your coin
    Keep your name
    Let the orange boat
    Earn its shame
    Want the message?
    Here it is.
    DON’T.
    DONATE.
    TO THIS.

  • NON PM

    NON PM

    Two opposition leaders.
    One historic agreement. Zero governments.

    Non-PM takes aim at the political theatre of Nigel Farage and Jordan Bardella presenting a future UK–France agreement while neither currently leads the country he proposes to negotiate for. Flags, handshakes and an impressively large piece of paper make it look like diplomacy has already happened. RebelliousBard merely notices the small complication: first they have to win the elections.

    ► BUY
    EVIDENCE

    Birmingham hall, a metre-high scroll
    Two men in suits who don’t run a thing
    One’s the PM of Clacton-on-Sea
    The other’s the PM of someday, maybe
    They call it a treaty, they call it entente
    It’s a photocopied handshake with a fancy font

    Stand for the anthem of things that might be
    If the French vote right and we wait till ’29

    Non-PM signs with a non-PM
    World peace in a conference hall
    Stop the boats forever, lads
    Subject to winning, subject to law
    Subject to voters agreeing at all
    Subject to both of them winning their side
    And nobody laughing too hard in the stalls

    Lecornu’s still in Matignon, government intact
    Macron still decides what France actually signs
    Bardella brought tomorrow dressed up as today
    Farage brought Downing Street without winning the keys
    They signed it on stage like Versailles in June
    Then went for a photo and a warm pale ale

    Promise the Channel will finally behave
    If two opposition parties both get their way

    Non-PM signs with a non-PM
    Historic, historic, historic again
    Returns and costs shared, boats turned around
    Once they’ve got keys and a working plan
    Till then it’s a banner and a standing ovation
    And tomorrow the dinghies still leave as they can

    It’s not diplomacy, it’s cosplay with flags
    A memorandum of understanding the gag
    They’ll visit in October, they’ll toast and they’ll pose
    While the real PMs keep doing the prose
    You can frame it and hang it, you can call it a pact
    It’s a government agreement minus the governments

    Non-PM signs with a non-PM
    The new entente cordiale of pretend
    Stop the boats forever — asterisk, fine print
    If the stars align and the voters consent
    We clapped in the hall like it already worked
    Then went home and watched the same boats as before

    Giant paper, tiny power
    See you in ’27
    Or ’29
    Whichever comes never