"Our father, who art in prison,
my Mum knows not his name,
thy riots come,
read it in the Sun,
in Birmingham, as it is in London,
give us this day our welfare bread
& forgive us our looting,
as we're happy to loot those who defend against us,
lead us not into employment
but deliver us free housing,
for thine is the trainers,
the PCs and the TVs,
forever and ever
... Innit"
No comments:
Post a Comment