What an eventful day today has been,
NHS strikes everywhere to be seen,
Junior doctors been made to do the unseen,
the unheard, the unthinkable,
here comes the Tory shit stream.

Whilst we sit in our homes safe and sound,
the lifesavers are out and about,
young and old, shoulder to shoulder,
“Save our NHS”, that’s all you hear about.

This is just one problem with Tories,
again and again, they never fail to upset the crowds,
tax credits, disabled benefits, forced academies.
A manifesto full of promises and highs,
turns out, it’s just rhetoric terms and tax haven lies,

But today isn’t just about the NHS,
for we have other problems,
a war on a noun and European debates,
enough to move the discussion away,
control and persuade this craze,
Rupert Murdoch says.

Not blinded by propaganda, realities revealed
3,000 Syrian children, where do we begin?
their homes gone, parents no more, how do we heal?
ashes are all thats left, and our government planned to bomb,
with no moral obligation discussed,
no plan for the aftermath, the plan was simple,
bomb bomb bomb.

St.Georges day comes and goes,
fancy dress, real ale and pies
at least we forget these 3,000 souls,
a burden on our fun,
we show our incompetence and arrogance
towards OUR only one.

These annoying Syrian children,
whose ancestor become the pinnacle of British culture,
an emblem of her power and liberty
a sign to all lesser nations,
a symbol of our sovereignty,
but all was to be diminished, in one morbid spring afternoon.

Here in commons,
You can hear them now, those white middle-class,
“Don’t let them in!”
“Vote them out!”

they don’t want history to enlighten our minds,
of the gestures our brothers have left behind,
we may as well never remember,
remember poor George,
refuge from his land, we gave a help in hand,
years later, we parade his image, we shout his name,
we get pissed and dressed up and act all proud,
but deep down,
if George was around,
He wouldn’t be too proud.