Theres one thing I want to know,
From Mr. George bloody Monbiot,
If I was a crayfish, otter or bee,
Would he try and protect me ?
George will fight for polar bears,
Save wild hares from wire snares,
But for the White Working Class,
He just sits there on his arse.
He will climb a mountain for a frog,
Wade for newts through reeking bog,
But when it comes to us British folk,
He thinks our survival is just a joke.
George sees more worth in an ant,
Than we who immigrants supplant,
Our forests fall as white flight grows,
But out in Wales, he will never know.
No harsh city truth awaits our George,
As he wields a pen, his mighty sword,
On yet another crusade for muntjac deer,
Forever blind to what is happening here.
If I was a dingo, wild panda or a seal,
Then my fate would be a very big deal,
But I am just a lowly English man,
Stuck on the M25 in my white van.
No-one ever gives a toss about any of us,
We are about as wanted as genital thrush,
Whilst George sees crayfish as usurpers,
He never speaks of Bakhri or the Burkha.
One day George will awake and weep,
And lament the years he spent asleep,
For as our England fades into black,
What we have lost, cannot come back.
