IT'S NOT GRIM UP NORTH
The Government in Britain hates the working class
Despises unemployed,old and sick in their mass
Fosters disunity, creating rich and poor
Northeners embody the image of the dour.
It's grim up North…we're not quite human
From attitude of politicians, I think they're assumin'
That North of London are heathen cultures
Old tales of yore…they devour like vultures.
"Eee, tha daft 'apeth" says dad to t' son"
"Tha ar't' reason me whippet 'as gone"
"It getten itsen stuck in t' gate for good"
"Tha sawed dugs yead off instead o' choppin' wood."
"Thas getten thi clogs on t' wrong feet"
"I towd thi abeyt that t'other neet"
"Tha needs um reet road rend fer t' fit"
Says dad to t' lad as they went den t' pit.
Even though the Government in London Town
Decided in their wisdom to close mines down
Destroyed our basic industries and a way of life
Replaced them with stereotypes to justify the strife.
"Up north wer as thick as a workhouse butty
We love smokin' fags an' watchin' footy
Strive to get pissed an' off are 'eads
Have sex with anybody in other peoples' beds."
We're all on t' dole, not one of us at work
Drugged and more spaced out than Captain Kirk
We put little puppies in microwaves
Lock old ladies in really dark caves.
Spend all day on their knees just scrubbing
They eat meat pies followed by black pudding
For tea they live off spam butties and drippin'
Flat cap's just a plate to put a chip in.
The North hates work- achieved nought of merit
Using their benefits to feed the ferret
Plasma screen teles, enormous bellies
They smell like onions in a pair of wellies.
( heathen voice)
Well let me say you're far from right
We put pongy scent on our bodies at night
We eat organic veg which we grow on shelves
Always find a toilet to relieve ourselves.
Countryside, mountains, lakes and lanes
We don't mind eye contact when we're on trains
Our humour is gritty, yet realistic
Materially based yet idealistic.
"Kindles" and Lapsang Souchong
We all eat croissants on a chaise longe
Cheap coffee's out, we prefer a latte
Jam butty? Non!… fois de grois pate´.
©Garry Croft Sep 2013