Swine Flu

Every one you know, comes back from Mexico,
Dosed and fried, with a mashed up glow
No more protest songs, no hippy laid back flow,
The time has come around, to let the piggies know
They strip search you for weed, steel your bag of E’s,
And come back to kill you, in your sweetest dream,

So film G20 on your cell phone,
To prove that you were there,
When you got Swine flu

Your bodies full of stamps, and DVT cramps,
In your legs to your head, from the protest beats.
There’s crack heads driving cabs,
And back ally, bio-labs,
It’s the colour and the culture, of the place you go.
You get a little sick, have a little toke,
Hang out with the locals, telling dirty jokes.

Fuck McDonalds keep your Starbucks
I’m on the local brew,
And I got Swine Flu

Run rabbit run with your tool bag dirty bomb
Elmer Fudd is behind you with a massive gun,
You’re in the UK, that don’t mean shit today,
They’ll shoot you first, then just walk away.
It’s politically correct, to kiss ass and accept
But not to connect with the ones who bleed

White wash away all the protest
Like it was never there
Like there was never Swine Flu

1 million people go, to brick their windows,
Coz as of rite now, it’s the way to go.
If you sleeping in the park, and locked out after dark,
For pissing off Daddy, and his Rolex crew.
So turn off your TV, and plan some anarchy
It won’t change a thing, about the eb and flow

Soon you’ll age and find this boring,
And forget you were ever there
When you got Swine Flu.

©Friday, 14 August 2009 Alex Kyriacou