BRITISHKINGDOM 2015: A Conservative Vision

BRITISHKINGDOM 2015: A Conservative Vision

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‘scuse me, Miss, Might I boffer you

Won’t be but a moment past

Window dressing for this most Democratic occasion

Just keeping representative appearance up

Skirt around differences, bow-tied tails tucked

Delicately intricate dance whinging ways

Labyrinthine loops o’ Ps n Qs, aversions and evasions

Bevies of superfluous ramblings, nay, out’n’out stammerings

Layered senseless prittle prattle assorted yammerings

So essential this mannering

Keep hammering indirect formalities, class-coded ideologies

That’s how she be as it were-was-is-ought to be.

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Hear it’s you and me, here, no they or disgraceful mess pot ‘us’

Europe, Asians, continental drifts as sickness

Merely some Yankees wringing hankies

Capital’s wank empties priggish septic tank

Come, Con, join the races

Keep up appearances

Hide away any disparities

Toy doll faces painted on birds

Foxes’ pride paraded down river side

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Sad sorts of all sorts

Would you look a’ that?

We’s a pitiful pathetic lot of yous

Bleedin bloody sodding soddy sold soggy

Soot’n’footy held distraction from action

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Avail on this trail, alight your next right and wrong

Imported into woodwork, place and rank so prudent is caste upon grades passed

Long non-native names, they ought to be last

Hail Heil barrels of ol’ ale

Stiff upper we live not to work at unearned post

Melee of races conjoined in dark dens of drink and stain

Facades’ fate

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It was just under yonder the black ships first set sail

Centuries stretched tale to breakage Bristol jails

Colonialist missions bring chickens back to brood

Seeping misery cured and pickled in bitter tepid brew

Dimmed dreams knocked back til morning

And the numbness goes without warning

Pestersome advances evermore frequent in her dalliances

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Eternal London’s limbo stalls

Remains of nearly etched names

Grave stately place to amaze and honour

Clergy and Empire Royal-split blood

Fleeting streets no direction leading

For there be no driver, all one blind rider

Waiting for their unclaimed train so

Leer and lurch

Head for the Bridge, dammit, they’ve got the spreadsheet values, crib sheet policy, don’it?

Excel us away from the pureblood repression, prayers answered, weren’t it?

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’tis, Miss, is it yet clear for thee?

Dear no, gracious me,

Pretence and manners so

Trying for ye to see veiled yearnings for it has required years’ learning

Prior to prams we’ve cultivated caught

Lorded over you and yours, us and ours, theirs well right, now and how

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So best get acquainted for you’re in a bit of a jam sans city county country class

Plan that notwithstanding, ingrained reprimanding fused to our core

So’s best not to question ‘more

Why it’s Tradition!

Upstairs fussery aids in abeetting any inkling of conformative thinking

Dealt with through collective persistence

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Stiff-lipped heavily tipped Independence Dependencecrowds out common grounds for reason

For colour and compassion cultural costumery fail to impress unless for a price

Wait and you shall see, Young Lady,

Guilt, shame, inadequacy will weave us too into you

Through and thick

The combined moral fabric of being, namely,

getting

by

UnitedBritish

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By A. L. Sisler

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