Tories

thirteen years and counting

~ jim clayton ~ Leave a comment

vote for me! vote for me!
clearly the best as you can see!
friends in high places
bungs with no traces
our sleeves
concealing
plenty of aces
verbal athletics
Eton genetics
on nodding terms with issues of ethics

vote for me! vote for me!
the choice of the finest quality!
our images glow
from top hat to toes
the press
are the best
at these things I suppose
just trust in your betters
to take the right measures
our names are framed with gilded letters

vote for me! vote for me!
the winning bet unequivocally!
we’ve such pizazz
and all that jazz
we’re rakes
on the take
wrapped up in a flag
we’ll keep you amused
till you feel confused
and we give the country a big blue bruise

vote for me! vote for me!
rosy futures guaranteed!
we’ll lose you in mazes
of parroted phrases
so slick
you’ll be sick
of the questions it raises
till you make it all stop
at the next vox pop
with a pen, a cross and a ballot box

patches

~ jim clayton ~ Leave a comment

Robin Williams had some great one liners
he said politicians should wear sponsor jackets like Nascar drivers
so we know who owns them
absolutely! it would totally expose them
so we could quickly see the people who’ll phone them
to twitch their puppet strings and loan them
hefty amounts of moolah and scratch
the bigger the sponsor the bigger the patch

he’s TOTALLY right
and I wish he was here on stage tonight
to riff on the tragic depth of their lies
acting the part in suits and ties
but underneath their slick disguise
hiding the WhatsApp group replies
the champagne dinners behind oak doors
gentlemen’s clubs with parquet floors
fat cigars and thick guffaws
about the new and complex laws
they’ll sneakily draft and bring to pass
to maximise yield but cover their arse
and awkward reforms put out to grass

THEN we’d see who wields the pen
in the cabinet rooms at Number Ten

trussonomics

~ jim clayton ~ 2 Comments

there were five in the bed
and the banker said
roll over! roll over!
so they all rolled over
and the sick fell out

there were four in the bed
and the banker said
roll over! roll over!
so they all rolled over
and the jobless fell out

there were three in the bed
and the banker said
roll over! roll over!
so they all rolled over
and the struggling fell out

there were two in the bed
and the banker said
roll over! roll over!
so they all rolled over
and the JAMs fell out

there was one in the bed
and the banker said
Goodnight! Sleep Tight!
Hope the landlords don’t bite!
Oh what a lucky lot we are
to have our own bed and a fat cigar
then yawned and deliciously wriggled his feet
ignoring the shouting down in the street

levelling up!

~ jim clayton ~ Leave a comment

levelling up!
levelling up!
from Lloyds of London to the Cheltenham Cup
welcome to UK plc
all for one and an extra one for me

where everyone’s a squiffy squillionaire
offshore schemer and property heir
cubs in the mouths of pater and mater
bringing them swinging by their bright blond hair
to the safety of the family lair
in Eton Wick, Buckinghamshire

levelling up!
levelling up!
a stripe of blood and a stirrup cup
for every golden, hyphenated child
running free in the Hunter wellington wild

a place where everyone’s equally called
to Marlborough College or old St Pauls
to debut at the Oxbridge ball
and intern for next to nothing at all
at the family firm on the thirteenth floor
with all your options rigorously explored

levelling up!
levelling up!
with a toast to the boys of the Bullingdon club
the monogrammed button paragons
patrolling the upper echelons

because all it takes for your Alexander or Tamara
is a guiding hand and a swipe of mascara
some Insta pics from the shores of Bora Bora
to maintain their fit and fabulous aura
and somewhere bougie to swing the tiara

levelling up!
levelling up!
personal trainers and body scrubs
Gucci guys and polo queens
in OK! (I’m Calling Security!) magazine

all of which wouldn’t be so bad
if the general population hadn’t been had
by a moneyed elite with a long proboscis
sucking the life from the public pocket
levelling up – such an empty phrase
when the working class is the one that pays
but hey, I’m genuinely sorry to say
your moaning’s just graffiti on the arse-end of posterity
so zip it, old chap – and here’s to Austerity!

Brexilla!

~ jim clayton ~ Leave a comment

Aargh! Another monster Tory Kaiju!
Hopelessly trashing the joint to spite you
Rampaging round a bad model of the country
Knocking over all and sundry
With their rubbishy rubber tails and claws
Cliche stamping, wretched roars
Swatting away the Remain-voting wankers
Chewing flaming petrol tankers
Taking a nuclear dump on the city
(And back for a sequel, more’s the pity)