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We forget the year… But we were there… When Big Ron took the hot seat… We watched from afar… Appalled… When he called… Diana… David… And stumbled over… Lines which in his… Day of hay… He would have chewed like baccy… His image truly spat… A vacation brain… Which sunned itself… In shades… While military aides… Loaded up… A flip top cranium… With pencil tipped… Uranium… This man’s unsuitability… Was scary… The political situation… As always… Much worse than hairy… That gnawing fear of being nuked… Had become real enough…To make the toughest of grown men puke!
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But in our hour of need… Came scions after another creed… They sang of tribes… That fight for points And of factions… Whose only destiny… Is to end… In fractions… And followed this up… With the power of love… And saved us all… From that hooded claw… Or so it seemed… To those still watching… From afar… So, send them in… After all… There have to be clowns… But no musicians… High and low we search… Like the gendarme… After the Scarlett Pimpernel… Where are the all the rebels?… Of yester-year… From them… We hear… Not a squeak about freedoms… And rights… They used to hold so dear.
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Oh, dear… Oh, dear… Money… And status… And comfort… And fame… Rounds the sharp edges… Of all but the spikiest punks… It seems… But to really paint a picture… Of how far our… So called civilisation… Has fallen… Pundits… Now quote… The utterances… Of Big Ron… And hold them up… As wisdom!… The so called free press… In Chinada… Are being spat at… By ordinary… Working Joe’s… Which is not… The way to go… But it does indicate… A dereliction of duty… What do the free press do?.. They complain… And demand better treatment… They have done… They claim… Nothing wrong.
France & Vincent 