It's Not My Fault!
Written for the BBC Wales segment of BBC Politics Show, broadcast Sunday 9 November 2003. The City of Cardiff had created its own Speaker's Corner in Cathays Park, and the BBC wanted to show a few suitable voluable debators giving forth, and asked me to contribute a suitable inflamatory piece.
Since this poem was broadcast, the average percentage of people voting in Welsh elections has in crease by 0%. I feel justly proud!
It's Not My Fault!
It's too much bother
For the 63% who think
There's no such thing as a wasted vote,
There's just a waste of time.
And when taxes rise,
Or public services decline,
You can always stand
By the graves of the luckless saps
Who died to give you the bloody vote
And smiling smugly say,
"It's not my fault!"
So, why bother?
The government always gets in!
(Har, har!)
And as each civil liberty
Is slowly picked away
By the acts of a pack patriots
Trying to save us from ourselves
You can still spud-out in front of
The latest re-run of last year's `Pop Idol'
And smiling smugly say,
"It's not my fault!"
Don't bother!
And when we've come to rack and ruin,
When the balloon's gone up,
And the chips are down,
And boots with snow,
Or sand,
Or any other undesirable substance
On their toe-caps
March up your street,
You can look up cheerfully
From the rubble of your living room
And smiling smugly say,
"It's not my fault!"
Since this poem was broadcast, the average percentage of people voting in Welsh elections has in crease by 0%. I feel justly proud!
It's Not My Fault!
It's too much bother
For the 63% who think
There's no such thing as a wasted vote,
There's just a waste of time.
And when taxes rise,
Or public services decline,
You can always stand
By the graves of the luckless saps
Who died to give you the bloody vote
And smiling smugly say,
"It's not my fault!"
So, why bother?
The government always gets in!
(Har, har!)
And as each civil liberty
Is slowly picked away
By the acts of a pack patriots
Trying to save us from ourselves
You can still spud-out in front of
The latest re-run of last year's `Pop Idol'
And smiling smugly say,
"It's not my fault!"
Don't bother!
And when we've come to rack and ruin,
When the balloon's gone up,
And the chips are down,
And boots with snow,
Or sand,
Or any other undesirable substance
On their toe-caps
March up your street,
You can look up cheerfully
From the rubble of your living room
And smiling smugly say,
"It's not my fault!"
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