RebelliousBard – BARD RECORDS

One Law For Everyone

admin — Fri, 16 Oct 2026 08:00:00 +0000

One law for everyone.
Some assembly required.

One Law for Everyone was inspired by a 76-year-old pensioner who managed to turn a burqa into something considerably more troublesome than a fashion statement. He’s studying Islam, considering conversion and identifies as a woman. Britain has spent years explaining how important it is to respect religious belief, gender identity and the law. Splendid principles, all of them. Then along comes an elderly gentleman who decides to take the instructions rather literally, and suddenly everyone needs to consult the manual. The police have their interpretation, the courts have theirs, and somewhere in Whitehall there’s probably a civil servant frantically searching for the section entitled “What If Somebody Actually Tries This?” The remarkable thing is that he hasn’t needed a megaphone, a protest march or even a particularly sturdy pair of shoes. Just a veil and an apparent willingness to test how all these carefully worded principles fit together. Whether his legal argument succeeds is for the court to decide. In the meantime, the questions are rather entertaining. One law for everyone. Apparently. Just don’t ask everyone at once.

► BUY

EVIDENCE

Seventy-six, a public menace,
Armed with nothing but a veil.
Britain’s finest wrote the rulebook,
Then watched their logic fail.

They banned the masks, then made exceptions,
Left the small print nice and wide.
An old man took them at their wording,
And watched their courage hide.

He’s studying Islam, might convert,
Identifies as a woman too.
Now the experts need a meeting
To decide which rules are true.

They can define a hundred genders,
They can lecture us on faith.
But a pensioner in Portsmouth
Has them checking every page.

One law for everyone,
What a lovely little lie.
Seventy-six, beneath a burqa,
With a courtroom asking why.

One law for everyone,
One pensioner, one veil.
A rulebook full of exceptions,
And a law put on trial.

Another veil, another protest,
High-vis jacket, denim jeans.
That one’s treated as religion,
This one’s treated as a crime scene.

They’ve got principles for the cameras,
They’ve got standards for the press.
They’ve got very different answers
When the wrong man wears the dress.

No one’s checking holy scripture,
No one’s measuring belief.
Just a sudden burst of certainty
When it’s someone they can brief.

One law for everyone,
What a lovely little lie.
Seventy-six, beneath a burqa,
With a courtroom asking why.

One law for everyone,
One pensioner, one veil.
A rulebook full of exceptions,
And a law put on trial.

Then he turned up at the court,
The same black veil upon his face.
They asked him to remove it,
And made another special case.

Would they ask another woman?
Would they risk the same offence?
Suddenly the fearless system
Found a little common sense.

The law’s not blind, it’s short of glasses,
And the guidance needs a guide.
They’ve got courage by committee,
And a different rule for each side.

They preach respect and equal treatment,
Then get tangled in the cloth.
An old man doesn’t need to shout
To pull the bloody curtain off.

One law for everyone,
What a lovely little lie.
Seventy-six, beneath a burqa,
With a courtroom asking why.

One law for everyone,
One pensioner, one veil.
They wrote the rules to govern him,
Now the rulebook’s on trial.

No riot shield, no master plan,
No great revolutionary.
Just a pensioner in a burka,
And a state that’s scared of irony.

That’s What They Called The News 2026 Vol.1

admin — Fri, 09 Oct 2026 08:15:00 +0000

Released 30 September 2026

News has become disposable.
That wasn’t always an improvement.

Most of these songs began life as headlines. They arrived with great urgency, dominated the country for somewhere between six hours and three days, then quietly disappeared beneath the next manufactured emergency. By Friday you’d forgotten Monday. By next month everyone was arguing about something else. The stories moved on. The questions rarely did.

I started writing these because I realised I couldn’t remember what we’d all been furious about a fortnight earlier. Every week came with another announcement, another review, another promise, another official explanation for why something obvious wasn’t actually happening. It struck me that if I couldn’t remember them, perhaps that was rather convenient for the people responsible.

So this isn’t really an album. It’s evidence. Fourteen moments the news cycle expected everyone to forget. Maybe you’ll agree with every song. Maybe you’ll disagree with every one. Either way, at least they’ll still exist after the headlines have gone.

FOR THE RECORD

Select any track to read the lyrics and listen to the recording.

Light Touch

admin — Wed, 30 Sep 2026 09:40:07 +0000

Your privacy matters.
Right up until somebody can make money from it.

Light Touch grew out of growing calls to replace Britain’s data protection laws with a more “light-touch” approach in the name of innovation, AI and economic growth. Apparently the real obstacle to progress wasn’t a lack of technology, investment or ideas. It was the irritating habit of ordinary people expecting to know who was collecting their information and why. Funny how privacy is always described as a fundamental right until it starts slowing somebody’s business plan. Then it quietly becomes paperwork, bureaucracy and something we’d all be better off having a little less of. Just trust them. Probably.

► BUY

EVIDENCE

Your privacy matters to us.
It’s just becoming
a little inconvenient.

Fill in your name, tell us where you live
Tell us who you voted for, there’s prizes to give
Tell us who you’ll vote for when election day comes
Maybe your whole street gets the heating bill done

Nothing suspicious, it’s a harmless little game
Just your politics, your postcode and your name
Then somebody asks what you’re gathering it for

Funny how nobody likes that question anymore

Privacy’s important
That’s what they always say
Right until the regulations
Start getting in the way

Light touch, light touch
Cut the red tape down
All those pesky little rules
Getting business off the ground

Your data’s safe with us
Probably
That’s the line
Just give us fewer rules
And everything will be fine

Light touch, light touch
Nothing here to see
Funny how your privacy
Became bureaucracy

Now GDPR’s the villain, strangling enterprise
Too many awkward questions about who gets what and why
Innovation needs your data, AI needs feeding too
Apparently the problem is the law protecting you

Access and objection, deletion if you please
Awful lot of rights when there’s money in the machine
So strip away the burden, let the future through

They probably won’t do anything
you wouldn’t want them to

Probably won’t profile you
Probably won’t share
Probably won’t find another use
For everything that’s there

Probably.

Light touch, light touch
Cut the red tape down
All those pesky little rules
Getting business off the ground

Your data’s safe with us
Probably
That’s the line
Just give us fewer rules
And everything will be fine

Light touch, light touch
Nothing here to see
Funny how your privacy
Became bureaucracy

When they want your data
It’s innovation

When you want it protected
It’s regulation

When they want fewer rules
It’s economic growth

And when you ask where this ends?

Well…

Nobody’s proposing anything.

Yet.

Give them your postcode
Give them your vote
Give them your habits
Whatever you wrote

Give them the rules
Then watch them complain
That protecting the public
Is holding back gain

Light touch, light touch
Cut the red tape down
Privacy’s expensive
When there’s data going round

Your data’s safe with us
Probably
So relax
They only want the freedom
To loosen up the Acts

Light touch, light touch
Progress guaranteed
Funny how your private life
Became something business needs

We value your privacy.

Probably.

Officially Speaking

admin — Wed, 30 Sep 2026 08:01:00 +0000

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.

Department For Watching Dinghies

admin — Sat, 26 Sep 2026 08:01:00 +0000

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

admin — Fri, 25 Sep 2026 08:01:00 +0000

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!

admin — Sat, 19 Sep 2026 00:00:00 +0000

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.

Full Force Of The Law

admin — Mon, 14 Sep 2026 12:05:00 +0000

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.

Stop The (Orange) Boats

admin — Fri, 11 Sep 2026 19:34:21 +0000

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.

The British Way™

admin — Thu, 10 Sep 2026 09:00:00 +0000

Not the British way?
According to whom?

The British Way takes aim at the political reaction to the Portsmouth protests, where ordinary people who believed they were defending Britain’s borders were condemned as “disgusting” before many politicians had even bothered to distinguish who was actually there. The song asks a simple question: who gets to decide what “the British way” really is? For RebelliousBard, patriotism isn’t measured by carefully managed speeches or approved demonstrations. It’s measured by whether people are prepared to stand beside their countrymen when doing so carries a political cost.

► BUY

EVIDENCE

The border needed defending
So the public held the line
The politicians needed cover
So they put police between the sides

Coaches waiting, tents already pitched
Welcome packs ready, every box ticked
Ten hours sailing, two ports said no
Portsmouth watched the whole thing come
Beds were found and coaches came
Police were ready all the same
Funny how the state moves fast
When moving people suits the plan

Mask on one face — call him a thug
Mask on another — that’s fair enough
Same black cloth, but change the side
And watch the judgement change its mind

They called the patriots disgusting
Before they even knew their names
Working men became the problem
While the system stayed the same
Masked men stood their ground in Portsmouth
Granny took her little boat
Westminster sent condemnation
Portsmouth sent a fucking no

Danny Tommo called the protest
Masked men came and held their ground
Faces covered, names protected
Knowing what gets passed around
Reform sold them “stop the boats”
Wrapped the promise in the flag
Then Tice preached “the British way”
When British men turned up in black

They like patriotism seated
Clapping nicely from the floor
Wave the flag the way they tell you
Don’t you dare define it more

Then look at who stood with them
When the easy choice was run
Restore didn’t damn the protest
Didn’t join the dogpile fun
Rupert Lowe went into Parliament
Put their right there on the page
While the others called them dangerous
Restore stood against the rage

That’s the measure of a party
Not the badge or conference hall
Stand beside your countrymen
When there’s something there to lose

Not the British way?

You don’t own the British way
You don’t own the flag we raise
You don’t get to court our anger
Then prescribe acceptable rage
British when you need our ballots
British when you need applause
Still as British in a balaclava
When we’re standing for the cause

They called the patriots disgusting
Now remember who stood where
Who condemned them from a podium
Who was actually fucking there
Praise the masked men down in Portsmouth
Praise the ones who wouldn’t budge
If standing up makes patriots thugs
Who made Westminster the judge?