BARD RECORDS

Tag: Single

  • 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.

  • The British Way™

    The British Way™

    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

    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

    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?

  • 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

  • Expires At Nine.

    Expires At Nine.

    Today’s firm commitment.
    Expires at nine.

    Expires at Nine takes aim at a government increasingly fond of strategies, consultations, guidance and reassuring announcements while borders, defence and national security remain permanently under review. For RebelliousBard, another plan is no substitute for capability, preparation or action. When every failure produces a new document and every promise comes with a shelf life, perhaps the only thing Britain can reliably defend is the paperwork.

    ► BUY
    EVIDENCE

    The border is controlled.
    So we’re told.
    The military is ready.
    In theory.
    Britain is secure.
    Presumably.
    Please see the enclosed leaflet for further details.

    A country has a border
    Or it’s colouring on a map
    Wave them through, lose track of who
    Then call the questions crap
    Hotels full, another boat
    Another statement from the top
    Everything is under control
    They just can’t seem to make it stop

    No country without borders
    That’s apparently extreme
    Much easier to manage
    If you redefine what borders mean

    Watch the lips
    Wait for the line
    Today’s firm commitment
    Expires at nine

    No border
    No defence
    No country
    Makes perfect sense

    Stop the training
    Print advice
    Put it in colour
    That’ll be nice

    No border
    No defence
    Nothing left to hold
    But another bloody pamphlet
    Telling Britain to be bold

    Cut the ranks and call it modern
    Cancel training, save the cash
    Every year another promise
    Every promise built to last

    Till the budget
    Till the briefing
    Till another target slips
    Then the men who won’t defend us
    Stand and lecture us on risk

    You can’t rehearse a war
    With a strategy and a screen
    You can’t defend a country
    If defence becomes a theme

    But don’t worry, troops
    There’ll probably be a module
    Teaching soldiering by June

    Watch the lips
    Here comes the line
    National security
    Has never looked so fine
    Possibly.

    No border
    No defence
    No country
    Makes perfect sense

    Stop the training
    Print advice
    Put it in colour
    That’ll be nice

    No border
    No defence
    Nothing left to hold
    But another bloody pamphlet
    Telling Britain to be bold

    Problem with integration?
    There’s a leaflet for the men
    Problem with the public?
    Build a little game for them
    Problem with the military?
    There’ll be guidance by July
    Problem with the government?

    Watch their lips
    and wonder why

    Every failure gets a slogan
    Every scandal gets a phrase
    Every promise has a shelf life
    Measured now in working days
    Nothing ever quite collapses
    It gets renamed and reviewed

    Then relaunched on Monday morning
    New font.
    Same fucking news.

    They don’t solve it.
    They announce it.

    They don’t defend it.
    They redefine it.

    They don’t control it.
    They produce guidance.

    And when the guidance fails?
    Consultation.
    Probably.

    No border
    But we’re sovereign

    No training
    But prepared

    No answers
    But a minister
    Is deeply, deeply concerned

    No backbone
    But a podium

    No action
    But a plan

    No fucking clue
    What happens next

    But there’s a leaflet
    if you can.

    No border
    No defence
    No country
    Makes perfect sense

    Cancel practice
    Print advice
    Put it in colour
    That’ll be nice

    No border
    No defence
    Still they tell us all is well
    While the people running Britain
    Couldn’t organise themselves

    Watch the lips
    Wait for the lie
    Today’s firm commitment
    Expires at nine

    Britain is secure.
    So we’re told.

    In the event of national emergency
    please remain calm
    and read the enclosed leaflet.
    Carefully.

  • Terms And Conditions Apply

    Terms And Conditions Apply

    Affordable. British. Priority.
    Three very simple words. Apparently.

    Terms and Conditions Apply takes aim at the language surrounding Labour and Reform’s competing housing promises. “Affordable” can still mean beyond the reach of the people supposedly being helped, while promises of priority for “British” people raise another deceptively simple question: who exactly do politicians mean? RebelliousBard isn’t interested in the headline. He wants to read the small print.

    ► BUY
    EVIDENCE

    Good news.
    They’re building affordable homes.
    Affordable to whom?
    Terms and conditions apply.

    Another housing promise, another number on the screen
    Thousands of affordable homes, whatever that might mean
    Take the market price that’s already out of sight
    Knock a little off the top and suddenly it’s right
    Can’t afford the deposit, can’t afford the rent
    But the minister says affordability’s money well spent
    Same land, same shortage, same ladder pulled away
    Just stick “affordable” on the brochure and everything’s okay

    Don’t ask what the word means
    Don’t spoil the surprise
    It’s affordable on paper
    Just don’t look at the price

    Terms and conditions apply
    Affordable homes that you still can’t buy
    British first, that’s a lovely little line
    Till you read the definition in the smaller type
    Labour sells the promise, Reform changes the sign
    Same housing circus with a different design
    Affordable, British, priority too
    Lovely little words
    What do they mean to you?

    Reform joins the party, fifty thousand more
    “British-born” gets priority at the council door
    Closer to the question, still dancing round the name
    Another careful adjective inside the housing game
    British when it suits them, British when they count
    British when they tell you who gets what amount
    Passport, place of birth, ancestry or home?
    Funny how the meaning shifts depending on the tone

    One word for the headline
    Another underneath
    By the time you’ve read the footnotes
    They’ve already sold the dream

    Terms and conditions apply
    Affordable homes that you still can’t buy
    British first, that’s a lovely little line
    Till you read the definition in the smaller type
    Labour sells the promise, Reform changes the sign
    Same housing circus with a different design
    Affordable, British, priority too
    Lovely little words
    What do they mean to you?

    A passport tells me who the state accepts
    It doesn’t tell me who my ancestors were
    And affordable doesn’t mean I can afford it
    Just that somebody wrote a definition for the word
    So spare me the slogans
    The launches
    The plans
    Tell me who gets the houses
    And who owns the land

    Build another thousand
    Build another ten
    Keep the prices climbing
    Then subsidise them again
    Protect the bloody bubble
    Call the sticking plaster bold
    Keep the young renting forever
    While the assets turn to gold

    Terms and conditions apply
    Affordable homes that you still can’t buy
    British first, but define it this time
    Who exactly gets to stand at the front of the line?
    Red tie, turquoise tie, promise redesigned
    Same magic adjectives doing overtime
    Affordable, British, priority too
    Tell us what they mean
    Before you tell us they’re for you

    Affordable.
    British.
    First.
    Three very simple words.
    Apparently.

  • The Leaflet

    The Leaflet

    If basic decency needs explaining,
    perhaps the problem started earlier.

    The Leaflet takes aim at government guidance issued to asylum seekers covering British laws and expectations around equality, sexual consent and acceptable behaviour. For RebelliousBard, the leaflet exposes an uncomfortable contradiction: cultural differences long dismissed as prejudice when raised by the public suddenly become real enough to require official explanation when written down by the state.

    ► BUY
    WORDS

    A pamphlet for grown men…
    Because the government ran out of ideas.

    A PM nobody voted for prints a little guide,
    How not to attack women, how not to cross the line.
    Consent in cartoon form for men who just arrived,
    While the girls on the street learn how to stay alive.
    They opened the door, then printed the rules,
    Teaching basic decency like nobody knew.

    If you need it in writing, the country is lost,
    We’re teaching the obvious at the public’s cost.

    The leaflet, the leaflet, what a joke of a state,
    Import the chaos, then educate too late.
    Don’t rape, don’t groom, don’t treat women like prey,
    We put it in a booklet and looked the other way.
    The leaflet, the leaflet, Burnham’s proud new plan,
    If they need the pamphlet, they shouldn’t have come.

    We lecture our own kids till they can’t say a word,
    Then hand grown men a leaflet like they’ve never heard.
    You called us bigots for saying values collide,
    Now Whitehall prints instructions explaining our side.
    If everybody shares them, why explain at the gate?
    Funny how the truth arrives officially late.

    If you need it in writing, the country is lost,
    We’re teaching the obvious at the public’s cost.

    The leaflet, the leaflet, what a joke of a state,
    Import the chaos, then educate too late.
    Don’t rape, don’t groom, don’t treat women like prey,
    We put it in a booklet and looked the other way.
    The leaflet, the leaflet, Burnham’s proud new plan,
    If they need the pamphlet, they shouldn’t have come.

    You don’t fix a crisis with a folded A4,
    You don’t import the problem then explain the law.
    If basic decency needs a government course,
    The policy failed before it left the source.

    The leaflet, the leaflet, what a joke of a state,
    Import the chaos, then educate too late.
    Don’t rape, don’t groom, don’t treat women like prey,
    We put it in a booklet and looked the other way.
    The leaflet, the leaflet, Burnham’s proud new plan,
    If they need the pamphlet… they shouldn’t have come.

    Printed in colour.
    Paid for by us.
    Taught to the ones they let in.

  • What Could Possibly Go Wrong?

    What Could Possibly Go Wrong?

    New Prime Minister.
    Familiar faces. What could possibly go wrong?

    What Could Possibly Go Wrong? captures the political reshuffle that followed Andy Burnham’s arrival in Downing Street in July 2026. Familiar figures, familiar controversies and a new Prime Minister without a general election mandate gave RebelliousBard little sense of a fresh beginning. Instead, the song looks at the government’s new line-up and wonders whether changing the names above the doors really changes very much at all.

    ► BUY
    WORDS

    New government, same old circus…
    What could possibly go wrong?

    A convicted fraudster back in the big chair,
    Phone that wasn’t stolen, still climbing the stairs.
    A woman who underpaid her house tax with a smile,
    Now she’s housing secretary — “Hold on, I’ve not finished yet. Stay a little while.”
    Defence minister with no boots on the ground,
    Prefers the rainbow hotpants to the khaki around.
    And a Prime Minister who got there with twenty thousand votes,
    Zero mandate, just a by-election and a few well-placed notes.

    They call it a fresh start, they call it a clean slate,
    While the country’s still bleeding under the same old weight.

    What could possibly go wrong?
    A fraudster, a tax dodger, a fashion parade in the M.o.D throng.
    A PM with no election, just a coronation song,
    What could possibly go wrong?
    The ship’s already listing, the crew’s a joke,
    What could possibly go wrong… while the country goes broke?

    They put the foxes back in charge of the hen house,
    Same faces, different titles, same old louse.
    Experience optional, integrity on the shelf,
    Just keep smiling for the cameras and blame someone else.
    The mandate’s missing, the trust is long gone,
    But the photo ops keep rolling, the circus goes on.

    What could possibly go wrong?…

    They say it’s change, they say it’s renewal,
    But it’s the same old faces in a brand new costume.
    A government built on thin ice and thin air,
    What could possibly go wrong… while nobody cares?

    What could possibly go wrong?
    A fraudster, a tax dodger, a fashion parade in the M.o.D throng.
    A PM with no election, just a coronation song,
    What could possibly go wrong?
    The ship’s already listing, the crew’s a joke,
    What could possibly go wrong… while the country goes broke?

    What could possibly go wrong…
    Hold on, I’ve not finished yet.
    Stay a little while.

  • Who Killed Ann?

    Who Killed Ann?

    Same investigation.
    Different pictures. Plenty of questions.

    Who Killed Ann? was written amid public confusion surrounding the reporting of the Ann Widdicombe murder investigation. As different images circulated and details appeared to change, questions emerged about whether the public was always looking at the same individual and how the various accounts fitted together. RebelliousBard takes those apparent inconsistencies and does what comes naturally: refuses to stop asking questions simply because an official version has arrived.

    ► BUY
    WORDS

    Ladies and gentlemen… the plot thickens…
    And the face in the dock doesn’t match the pictures.

    Who killed Ann?
    The man in the dock looks nothing like the plan.
    Shaven head in court, longer hair on the tape,
    Drive times that don’t add up, what a state.
    Police said “this is him” with a straight face grin,
    Now he stands there looking like a different man.

    Is it the same man? Is it a double?
    Or just another chapter in the national muddle?

    Who killed Ann?
    Who killed Ann this time?
    The pictures don’t match, the story’s a crime.
    Who killed Ann?
    Who killed Ann today?
    The face in the dock looks a million miles away!

    Two-fifty miles in a handful of hours,
    Stick in his pocket and a trail of powers.
    Non-political one day, terrorist the next,
    Far-right arrests that leave the public perplexed.
    None of them charged, the story goes quiet,
    While we stare at the silence and the latest riot.

    Is it the same man? Is it a double?
    Or just another chapter in the national muddle?

    Who killed Ann?
    Who killed Ann this time?
    The pictures don’t match, the story’s a crime.
    Who killed Ann?
    Who killed Ann today?
    The face in the dock looks a million miles away!

    Columbo would have noticed, Morse would have scowled,
    The Sweeney would’ve kicked the door in and howled.
    But here we are again with the same old farce,
    A face that doesn’t match and a case falling apart.

    Who killed Ann?
    Who killed Ann this time?
    The pictures don’t match, the story’s a crime.
    Who killed Ann?
    Who killed Ann today?
    The face in the dock looks a million miles away!

    Who killed Ann…
    Who killed Ann…
    The face doesn’t match…
    The face doesn’t match…

  • Step Six (B)

    Step Six (B)



    THE EPISTEM

    Eventually the process
    stops feeling unfamiliar.

    Step Six (B) records the programme after the instability of the previous stage has subsided. Competing instances no longer appear to conflict, and the archive notes a period of sustained operational consistency without identifying how that state was achieved. From this point onward, the Manual presents continuation as the system’s natural condition rather than an objective still being pursued.

    Step Six (A)



    ► The Epistem • Step Six (B) • Manual To Success BUY
    INSTRUCTIONS

    Step six Stabilization in progress

    I woke up feeling like a version that continued
    No hesitation left, everything just moved through
    Every action fits like it’s already been chosen
    No questions asked, every door just opens

    This is working now
    This is working now
    Everything aligns somehow
    This is working now
    This is working now
    I don’t need to ask how
    No, no, no

    No more second-guessing what the system is doing
    Every step ahead feels already proven
    Even my thoughts arrive already complete
    Like they’ve been waiting for me to repeat
    Stability confirmed

    This is working now
    This is working now
    Everything aligns somehow
    This is working now
    This is working now
    I don’t need to ask how

    Step six complete

    Manual To Success The Epistem