Stamp it out.

people-of-the-earth
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 dragon...you 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.


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