TBone Jones
Poetry
England’s Green and Pleasant Land
In England’s green and pleasant land
The corridors of power stand
As testament to history
Of freedom and democracy
But where once walked the just and strong
Even their echoes are now gone
Westminster now a viper’s pit
And filled with little more than shit
Good voices lost amongst the cries
Of screeching vultures and their lies
These specimens’ hearts full of greed
Who think themselves a special breed
In truth not fit to wash the feet
Of those who serve and those who treat
Maggots tucked up in their homes
Kept safe and out of reach of harm
Send out the best of British young
To face the bullet and the bomb
And yet do nothing to the scum
Who rob and mug and live for wrong
They cut from all good services
But nothing from their pockets give
And sons of Islam filled with hate
Make bombs and plots of life to take
With thoughts of virgins yet to come
As reward for their martyrdom
The Imams preach their words of hate
It’s not their lives that they forsake
They send their youth to spill their blood
Corrupters of what once was good
We hate the ones that do the deed
But it’s those who, filled with greed
That power hungry warp and twist
And young minds sometimes can’t resist
Yet politicians live in fear
As do the evil preachers here
Lest black and yellow, brown and white
Should suddenly one day unite
And cry enough, we’ll have no more
You can no longer rape the poor
Or preach your spiteful creed of lies
And send the children out to die
In truth it’s only you and I
Who let them lord on us from high
From fragile towers they sneer down
At us below them on the ground
The masters wield their favourite tool
Their only strength, divide and rule
Yet tottering their towers stand
Upon the backs of common man
But we below can tear them down
And send them bloodied from our town