Well youve really done the dirt on me
Have you lot
Betrayed me, an gone back
And what is worse
Youve got your jobs
I ask you, what have I got?
I cant do nothing else
But write in verse
This year has really made me quite ecstatic
Im only happy when I am depressed
Ive had the opportunity to moan to some effect
And moanings what I really do the best
I moaned a bit about mi operation
About the things I did, an didnt like
I moaned about mi love life
But what really set me off
Was all the sordid things about the Strike
I know, to all appearances Im jolly
Youd think I was a girl who doesnt mind
But Im the sort who eats to compensate for other things
And sad to say,
It settles all behind
So lads, I understand
That there was nothing persnal meant
You really didnt mean to cramp my style
But, did you have to let me down
Just as Id found mi feet?
I nearly was quite happy for a while
I ask you,
Where do I go now its over?
Youve robbed me of my only chance for fame
Ill have to go and find another purpose in my life
But nothing will quite ever be the same
There wont be no more Benefits and such like
Mi social life is grinding to a halt
If I end up a hermit
Writing poems no-one reads
Im blaming you, you WORKERS
Its your fault.
March 1985
I was joking, of course, but, you know, there were many good things to come out of the strike.