Stamp it out.

Hope dies last
At least it should
Instead it's that twat
Sat in the pub
Up he gets
When you head to the bar
Back from London?
Not for me taa
Down there once
A few year back
Full of them Pakis
And niggers, no blacks
Losing your temper
You swallow your beer
Ask the ignorant twat 
How he got here?
Tonight pal? I drove
I'm leaving the car
I'll walk back I think 
Christ it's not far
You look at him blankly
Toning it down
The twat is now puzzled 
Here comes the frown
No, you your family
Where are you from?
I'm Irish and Welsh 
There aint no pure pom
He rolls up his sleeve
Revealing his ink
St George, his mum
A think
Lovely you say
The colours the lot
Amazing the skill
When they're out of the cot
His heart rate racing 
He's been here before
The penny now sailing 
Towards the floor
I'm English you cunt
I served for our queen
She's yours you can have her
Outside if you're keen?
You stamp and you stamp
And nothing is said
Enjoy the silence.
The racist is dead.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: