Enough Is Enough

He danced the cenotaph step,
Sold secrets to the Czechs.
(Or was it to the Ruskies?)
A traitor? Yes he must be.
Let’s show him on a red background;
All ominously wrapped around
With a picture of the Kremlin
And this hat we ‘shopped him in.
Did he sing? He did not!
He’s a Maoist, he’s a Trot!
He’s a traitor, he’s a cad,
Thinks the IDF did bad.
Did ‘e speak to any Jews?
They’re the wrong kinda Jews!
They got the wrong kinda views!
It’s plastered all over the news.
Enough is enough! Media framin’ blues.

—Daz

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NRA

If Black Lives Matter said "More guns, we need,"
Just imagine the right-wing's spittle-filled screeds.
Just imagine the scenes, the cries and the screams
If leftists lobbied for death-machines.
If socialists wanted AR's for "protection,"
T'would be called a communist insurrection!

But you're okay, on the right and white;
Surely you with a gun should cause no fright.
How could we imagine you'd misuse such might?
Death at your hip is your god-given right!

So let us now kneel down and pray
To the Lords of all—the NRA.
Let the children fall in bloody tatters;
Guns and profit are all that matters!

—Daz

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“Judeo-Christian” Values

Would somebody please explain to me
How wishing a merry Christmas-day
Is an act which could be said to be
"Judeo" in any form, any way.
"Judeo-Christian" values? Pah!
Is perfunctory lip-service, even, paid
To the Talmud or the Tanakh?
Do you recognize Tzedakah? No! Such aid
To the poor is decried as RED COMMEENISM!
Your value system on greed's lathe is turned.
Judeo-anything, it certainly isn't,
And even poor Jesus is hard to discern.
Your "values," if as such they may be described,
Are nothing but hate, they're reactionary.
Your churches are nought but places to hide
From a world you ne'er saw from your mammy's knee.
A fig-leaf of inclusion, that "Judeo" prefix
Can't hide your obstinate Protestantism.
You hardly let Catholics into the mix!
Call it what you like, but Judeo it isn't.
—Daz

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My First Shot In This Year’s Round Of The War On The War On The War On Christmas

Harken unto the words of the Mango Mussolini:

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The Pitter-Patter Of Little Royal Miracles

Headline news! Our Will and Kate
Did rumpy-pumpies, unprotected.
And miracle of miracles,
A baby's now expected!

No matter that tenants in council flats
And kangaroos and cats and bats
Can manage the same without hint of fuss,
This pair's supposed to mean more to us;
'cause they are better than thee or me
By dint of being royalty.

—Daz

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Cynique, Moi?

To the tune of Give Me Forty Acres…

For the love of tax-free earnings
On the pulpit I will pound.
I'll tell you who to hate and then
I'll send the plate around.
I will vilify the commeenists,
I'll curse the gays with hives.
I can work up quite an anger
If it earns me tax-free tithes.

I need a brand new Cadillac,
My daughter wants a yacht,
So I'll pick another scapegoat
And throw 'em in the pot.
I'll aim God's wrath at feminists
And at the godless fool;
At the needy and the greedy
'cause my mansion needs a pool.

—Daz

PS: And I note that Padre Steve is just as angry as I am, about those who preach hate yet call it love. Though possibly not as cynical as I. Ho-hum.

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Some Thoughts On Easter Monday

If he wanted to show forgiveness
Could he not just have said "I forgive"?
To show the path to redemption, have said,
"Here's how I want you to live…"?
If he needed to show us a sign could he not
Have gouged it into the Earth's very rock?
Did he need to paint it in agony
By having a scapegoat nailed to a tree?

—Daz

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Just Sayin’…

'Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,
With conquering limbs astride from land to land;
Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand
A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame
Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name
Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand
Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command
The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.
"Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!" cries she
With silent lips. "Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"'

Like I said, I'm just sayin' …
—Daz

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Wie Einst, Lili Marleen: Songs The BBC Banned

I ran across a mention, a couple of days ago, of the fact that it was Jane Birkin's birthday. You know, her that is famous (or infamous, depending on your point of view) for the 1969 UK number-one hit, Je T'aime … Moi Non Plus, along with her lover (and writer of the piece) Serge Gainsbourg. It's not a song I'm particularly fond of (not because of the risqué content; I just find it boring), but it did give me an idea for a post. Which I then failed to produce in a timely fashion. Ho-hum.

So here, is a post, two days too late for the event I wished to tie it to, about songs which have been banned by the BBC.

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Hand-Built By Robots

You employed us in thousands, but begrudged our pay;
"We must do this cheaper, there must be a way."
So you installed robotics and sacked all the workers
Then 'cause we weren't working you called us all shirkers.
We need money to live—that's the system you built—
But when we have none you say ours is the guilt.
Though your greed for more profit's what took all our jobs
You say welfare is theft, that we're just lazy slobs.

There will come a day when you pay for your crimes;
For the dollars you hoarded while we scratched for dimes.
With the steel in our arms and the fire in our blood
We'll re-introduce you to Old Ned Ludd.
—Daz

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