The White Man
The White Man inhales his fatal white sticks,
Listening to the sound of beating drums,
Protected, he thinks, in his dear shiny box,
He toys with the steering-wheel with his thumbs.
Wearing useless trinkets that glister
He gives other motorists the finger
While he listens to his favourite singer.
But he gets ripped off at the garage forecourt,
He goes in loaded and comes out short,
He has no choice but to buy the oil
From far away tribes on foreign soil.
He sells his life to earn his pay,
So he can go on holiday,
Escape from the drudge and the rain,
To play away and forget the pain.
He queues up at the ATM,
Accepting he is not one of them,
Who chain him in laws, care not if he’s dead,
All this technology makes him scratch his head.
The machine spits out his credit card,
Awaits another from the next retard.
He thumps the screen in blind frustration,
He has not been successful on this occasion.
In desperation he turns his hand
To fight for those in a distant land.
He’s over the moon to fight in the Gulf,
In the animal bars he howls like a wolf.
He sees it as a just cause,
To fight other people’s wars.
It’s another holiday in the sun,
Though he must come home when the fighting’s done,
To be ripped off again at the forecourt.
He must pay for the oil for which he’s fought.
He buys a film to watch tonight
After he’s drunk and been in a fight.
Him and his girlfriend will order a curry,
To start a family there is no hurry.
He thinks he’s paying for his old age pension,
But there’s too many old that need that attention.
He doesn’t realize that there’s not enough young,
To supply him in age when he’s still lost his tongue.
He doesn’t think, it’s all worked out.
He believes the lies that the media shout.
He’s got no life of his own,
All he can do is moan.
He thinks he’s got a selection,
A puny vote at the next election.
He lives the life of another
Every time he watches Big Brother
But Big Brother is really watching him,
Every time he has a form to fill in.
Lotteries, royals, quizzes and soaps,
And football, that’s how he copes,
Hiding his head in the sand,
On someone else’s land.
Tuesday, 17 June 2003.