Ant Smith

All poems

Our side

Tyne-side
Wear-side
Tees-side
In-side
Out-side
My-side
Your-side
Gary Larson’s Far-side
It’s a dream,
It’s a scene,
It’s a walk on the banks of a river
So serene!

Thatcher’s had her claws dug deep
In the land round here
Thatcher’s wondrous wilderness walk
So wonderfully sincere
Before she carved us up
‘n’ cut us off
‘n’ dried us up
‘n’ watched us drop
Out of the premier league

Walking home
and walking out
Walking up
and walking out
Waking here
and walking there
Walking fuckin’ everywhere

Make no mistake it’s not over yet
Their plans grow by the year.
Make no mistake, no, no regret
It’s all just puppetry
with Teesside as the set.
Chuck out the GETS!
Chuck out the GETS!
Chuck out the GETS!
Don’t Vote.

Got no shops in our high-street
Got no money, I’m incomplete
Got no food, and got no meat
Still got me fuckin’ bastard feet

Tyne-side
Wear-side
Tees-side
This-side
That-side
Our-side
Side-by-side
It’s a fact of geography
Meteorology
Economy
Astronomy
Numerology
One-by-One-by-one-by-one
Of every day people:

Love their dear ‘n’ Ancient Towns
Love to here their feet touch ground
Love to know we’re still around
Love to sing this round
Don’t let bastard’s grind you down