I Like Reading the Daily Mail, See ...

I like reading the Daily Mail, see

It tells me how things in the world are and how things in the world should be

There’s people out there who don’t like it

They find it offensive ‘cause they don’t agree

But the things they like, the things they say and read, perhaps they might be offensive to me

That’s why I like reading the Daily Mail, see?

It tells me that these immigrants are over here stealing all of our jobs

It tells me the Lithuanians and Bulgarians, the Albanians too, are always on the rob

And then it goes and tells me that all us British blokes are just workshy slobs

And at the same time, all of our politicians are just toffee-nosed snobs

I suppose some people might call it journalistic hypocrisy

But I think it’s just like those journalists are talking to guys like me

And I still like reading the Daily Mail, see?

It could be because of the Union Jack and my British nationality

Or maybe it’s ‘cause I love our dear old Royal Family

I mean, they may be rich and privileged, but they’re British, just like you and me

They have their Sunday roasts and they’re always drinking cups of tea

The Daily Mail says it, so that’s the way it must be

And then sometimes I wonder why I like reading the Daily Mail, see.

Why England Loses

I like playing football, but I like driving Bentleys too

See, I like getting paid lots of money too

I used to kick a ball around for me school

But back then, it were a different kind of rule

Back then, we used to play for fun

We didn’t used to play for money

We used to like the glory

The idea of getting kissed by the girls from the school

But that don’t happen now

Now, we have WAGs

We have birds who ain’t just common, council estate slags

Well, they might be, but they’re more classy

But then, that’s the problem, ain’t it?

I’m not thinking about football

I’m thinking about all these other bits and pieces

Which probably explains why England always  loses.

This Fashionable Man

These clothes, designer labels, tee-shirts, by Bench, by FCUK, by DKNY,
These shirts by Dolce & Gabbana, by Ben Sherman, by Yves St Laurent,
These jeans, these trousers, by Jack and Jones, by G Star, by Diesel,
The contents of this wardrobe, expensive, no money spared,
Indicative of someone who cared.
These creases, these ruffles, these collars, cuffs and hems all frayed,
These colours faded, pink not red, no longer black but grey,
These jeans once new and fashionable, threadbare now,
Worn by a man once loved, a man now dressed by people paid to be there,
Now hidden away, forgotten, by those supposed to care.