Ant Smith

All poems

Gotcha

I remember your racist campaigning
Your attacks on our community
I remember you clearly stating
Society was illusionary
I remember you devastating
The markets with bad policy
I remember your vocal training
From satchi and sodding satchi

I remember you were not for turning
While you had the power of the police
I remember your green goddesses burning
While you lost control of the streets
I remember you taxing our fuel
While the miners stood up against you
I remember you snatching our milk
When I was still in school

You can turn in your grave if you want to
Return to your Victorian values
Burke and Hare wouldn't get but two coppers
For a cadaver as twisted as you

I'm glad I've seen the last of your handbags
And that Brixton is planning a rave
I'm gonna put on my old glad rags
And I'm gonna piss upon your grave
Yes, I'm gonna put on my old glad rags
And I'm gonna piss up on your grave