WHAT NEXT
Well you’ve really done the dirt on me
Have you lot
Betrayed me, an’ gone back
And what is worse
You’ve got your jobs
I ask you, what have I got?
I can’t do nothing else
But write in verse
This year has really made me quite ecstatic
I’m only happy when I am depressed
I’ve 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’ didn’t 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 I’m jolly
You’d think I was a girl who doesn’t mind
But I’m 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 pers’nal meant
You really didn’t 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 it’s over?
You’ve robbed me of my only chance for fame
I’ll have to go and find another purpose in my life
But nothing will quite ever be the same
There won’t 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
I’m blaming you, you WORKERS
It’s your fault.
March 1985
I was joking, of course, but, you know, there were many good things to come out of the strike.
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