The words are written in white ink
on a white paper in darkness
about a white world where everything is white
its a white story
and I can't read a thing
I do not know this story

Please go easy on them
you know if you say boo
they'll go pale, trembling and go hide
they've never been able to stand on their own two feet
even the older ones need gang protection
they're only brave in number
no core, no gumption, foreigners laugh at them

Please, please pity them
they are weak and very sensitive
its all mouth no trousers
they try to dish it out
but we all know they can't take it
they may go and commit suicide
they're entitled indulgent suckers

They're brought up by TV programs
and Computer games, they know no reality
its all pretense and making things up with them
even their love life is make believe
we're in the greatest love, you are the best
three months later, we're separated
their men **** and run like street dogs

Those Islanders give them hell
they're scared witless and now carry knives
they always walk in threes or four or in gangs
the cowards only jumps you from behind, unawares
then run away before you know whats happened
dish it out to them they turn to jelly
so just humor them, they are plastic weaklings

See how the others live
garnish your morning gruel with gossips
makes your cold porridge taste just a bit better
search out the ***-bits and the juicy blue parables
all from the House of Windsors can never be fake-news
when Princes bed seventeen aged maiden cold teas taste hot
gloom and doom means pep-ups, a smile and a spring to their steps
in rarefied air the stench of the ghettos and the belches from drains
should whiff in polluting and disturbing the perfumery of gentility
and why not...do they hear the cries of the motherless babies
or listen to the frustrations of the thieves having a no dice day
as Joan sells her body to pay the loan-arranger yesterday
and Jason is so bothered looking for a fix down the alley
do they know Roger took his own life cos he had no job
yes to sit and hear of the pain and sufferings high above
makes cold toasts and bacon of-cuts that much sweeter
and as the kettle whistles away they hope the vapour
clears the grimes of trodden lives and deadend roads
and rain hot molten ashes on the Semites and Giles
and madam in the big house up in the green Hills
and the Garters and Coronets all burn in Hell
with their socks on......

There stands our Novel Chamberlain
Xenophobic uber-prat with top dog pretensions
a weak chine coward showing profile unrefined
goggles dark, black shirted.shameless bully craves attentions
parody of a man mired in semblance exuding puerile ignorance fine
insipid pale republican Tonton Macoute compensating his limitations

There stands our novel Chamberlain
a oaf with mildew loaf, the  ubiquitous Brown shirt warrior
he's here, there pontificating absurd prose worthy of disdain
cringing vocabulary, warped voyeuristic styles, he straddles Parlio
emitting odious **** of a mentally deranged finding shelter in de rain
basking in mock praises from acolytes and accounts in his alter-egos

There stands our Nonentity Chamberlain
the charlatan of all poetic sides and raconteur un- magnifique
he's eaten in Laos, slept i Siberia, climbed the Laurent and lion slain
been all over the world, bedded women from China to Mozambique
he is a trialist, finalist, racialist, specialist, a fantasist, all but not plain
as he sits in ***** drawers in a dingy room masking his life oblique

There stands our 'no-mark' Chamberlain
dark shades and black T-shirt a poser fantasizing he is a G-man
look behind the facade and see the under-endowed troll insane
a coward, a nasty, witless, brain addled yob and **** fresh in a can
show me the confident wholesome being who does like this knave
a fake con artist, buffoon, with the pretentious guise so much in frame