This is going up late because I fell asleep.
•
They’re so scared, so they say, of the places we piss
(In cubicles, locked), but apparently this
Is as nought to the latest in anti trans fear
Our names might be spoken WHERE CHILDREN COULD HEAR
Yes, they’ve heard that afoot there’s nefarious plans
To tell little kids it’s OK to be trans
That what’s most important is love and respect…
Can you even imagine the tragic effects?

It causes me pain
To have to explain
That the cis are… oh dear, they’re at it again.

They have also encountered a worrying thought
What will happen if trans women dominate sport?
The real XX females will not have a hope
(Are there facts to back up these assertions? Well, nope.)
What they don’t seem to realise when voicing these fears
Is that trans women have been competing for years
It’s sad when a group has to point to the fact
That they haven’t won much, to avoid being attacked.

It causes me pain
To have to explain
That the cis are… how vexing, they’re at it again.

With the trans, many newspapers tend to be snide
But the Guardian used to be *kind of* onside?
But since Burchill and H-Lew gave Freeman and Orr
A taste of their Kool-Aid, it’s not anymore!
At TV debates, the TERFs turn up en masse
To yell at trans guests: and they’re horribly crass.
For them, men are from Mars and women from Venus
Which is almost as stupid as just shouting “PENIS”

It causes me pain
To have to explain
That the cis are… oh, really? They’re at it again.

Now I know that you’re dying to say “not ALL cis!”
And I know, YOU’RE all lovely, but let me say this
If you’re still more invested in ‘splaining to me
‘Stead of challenging them, you’re the problem, you see?
I hope we’ll look back on the whole twenty teens
In amused disbelief: were they really so mean?
But a part of me fears, and the rest of you should
That we’ll look back and say “God, we had it so good!”

Cause it causes me pain
To have to explain
That the cis… I’m afraid they are at it again.

Bad, bad taxidermy

Bad, bad taxidermy

I’ve got a guilty pleasure:

It’s not something I can measure

The euphoria that floods me when I see

A twisted little face

In a dusty little case

With its glassy little eyes looking at me.

There’s a special kind of thrill’ll

Hit my senses when a squirrel

Looking nothing like it did when flesh and blood

Catches hold of my attention

Cause I think that I should mention

That I think bad taxidermy’s really good.

Bad, bad taxidermy

Bad, bad taxidermy

When the rabbit or the pheasant

Looks all natural and pleasant,

Just like it could be alive, it’s not as fun

In fact it’s quite depressing

When you find you’re second guessing:

“Is that dead or is it gonna jump and run?”

But a beast with staring eyes

Or with teeth a funny size

Brings a joy I don’t find easy to explain.

Although they would not have chosen

To be permanently frozen

Into awkwardness, at least there is no pain.

Bad, bad taxidermy

Bad, bad taxidermy

I am not a fan of hunts,

When a bunch of nobby cunts

Chase a fox around then tear it into shreds

But my heart is sort of brimming

Up with love for men and women

Who fill animals with sand in little sheds.

Do they feel a certain duty,

When they’re faced with nature’s beauty,

To preserve it lovingly for all to see?

“I really like that fox

So I will put it in a box

Looking weird and stilted for posterity”

Bad, bad taxidermy

Bad, bad taxidermy

I’ve a friend who’s got a badger

And he looks a proper radge, a

Fearsome beast who glares, cross-eyedly from the shelf.

If we could go back in time

And present it with this crime,

I don’t think that it would recognise itself.

But why not come and dally

In the old uncanny valley?

Bad stuffed animals are there for you to see ‘em

If you need a place to start

With this undervalued art

Try the walrus at the Horniman Museum.

A true story…

My bosses decided that they should meet monthly

To talk about issues that patients had raised

And also to celebrate excellent practice

And make sure that staff were corrected, or praised.

Equality! Diversity! Leadership!

It’s simple, it’s snappy, it’s strong!

Equality! Diversity! Leadership!

What could possibly go wrong?

Specifically, they wanted to “Be more inclusive

And make sure that everyone’s treated the same”

But far more important than getting this right was

Ensuring their group had a good snappy name.

Equality! Diversity! Leadership!

It’s simple, it’s snappy, it’s strong!

Equality! Diversity! Leadership!

What could possibly go wrong?

And so they assembled one day in the boardroom

And I was invited to come along too

“Minority staff must be part of this process

Your voice is important! We’ll listen to you!”

Equality! Diversity! Leadership!

It’s simple, it’s snappy, it’s strong!

Equality! Diversity! Leadership!

What could possibly go wrong?

And I was just one of a motley collection

Of staff who were ethnic, disabled and queer

But I have to confess, it felt like window dressing

And all of us wondered just why we were here.

Equality! Diversity! Leadership!

It’s simple, it’s snappy, it’s strong!

Equality! Diversity! Leadership!

What could possibly go wrong?

Whenever we tried to be heard in the meeting

They’d nod and they’d smile, say they valued our thoughts

But what should they be called? This was far more important!

We all rolled our eyes, and we bit back retorts.

Equality! Diversity! Leadership!

It’s simple, it’s snappy, it’s strong!

Equality! Diversity! Leadership!

What could possibly go wrong?

Then somebody, Pete, I think, made a suggestion

Looking too innocent, he caught my eye.

I saw what he meant, and I smothered a giggle

It probably wouldn’t get through. But we’d try.

Equality! Diversity! Leadership!

It’s simple, it’s snappy, it’s strong!

Equality! Diversity! Leadership!

What could possibly go wrong?

Of course, in the end, they ignored us, as usual

And maybe on balance it was just as well

Even so, it was fun when we nearly convinced them

To name their endeavour the EDL…

I know two Tia dogs. This is for the Rottie one.

I’m large and I’m black

And I roll on my back,

I’m Tia.

I don’t make a fuss.

When I do it is jus’

Cos I’m Tia.

My house is my castle.

Invade? I’ll give hassle

I’m Tia.

Some times I get scare

And my borks fill the air,

I’m Tia.

If you think I am good

Please give all your food

To Tia.

You say I should have so much more self esteem!

That I do myself down, that I don’t dare to dream.

You wish that I thought, and I know this is true,

As much of myself as yourself thinks of you.

You know that I’m quiet, you think that I’m shy.

You know that I find talking hard, but not why.

You want me to feel that my voice should be heard.

And you wish I’d accept the great honour conferred

By your own good opinion. You think I am great!

And my reticence must be, you reason, self hate.

If I could just have self assurance, like you

There would be no limit to what I could do!

But I never have suffered with low self esteem:

That isn’t the block between me and my dream.

I’m rather reserved in a crowd, this is true,

But in this case it’s not so much me, as it’s you.

My reluctance to talk’s not because I am shy,

(Though a part of me would prefer that to to be why)

I’m not very keen for my voice to be heard:

The truth is much worse. Because you have conferred

My own low opinion on me, well that’s great:

It’s simply more proof of the one I should hate.

I’m quiet and reserved, and that much, yes, is true

But it’s not me I do not have faith in, it’s you.

.

Big Bollock Billy is strong and he’s tough

He’ll mount any bitch who stands still long enough

But there’s one fact that Billy elects to ignore:

He hasn’t got balls anymore.

Big Bollock Billy, he swaggers and struts,

A king among canines, a monarch of mutts.

He knows he’s a stud in the depths of his core,

But he hasn’t got balls anymore.

With a tennis ball, Billy’s excited to play,

But he’ll take off your hand if you take it away.

You can’t really blame him: it’s happened before:

He hasn’t got balls anymore.

Billy believes he’s a dog in his prime

And nobody’s told him he’s not got much time.

He ignores the arthritis that stiffens his paw,

And he hasn’t got balls any more.

Big Bollock Billy is strong and he’s tough.

He’ll mount any bitch who stands still long enough

But there’s one fact that Billy elects to ignore:

He hasn’t got balls anymore.

Seems like everyone’s dancing in Sheffield

We stagger in twos through the street.

We sway, arm in arm,

Trying to come to no harm

While the weather tries knocking us right off our feet.

But the one who is causing the dancing

Must really be feeling embarrassed

He tugs at our sleeves

But we wish he would leave

Because nobody’s dancing with Gareth.

No, nobody’s dancing with Gareth

Though he knocks on the windows and doors

It’s really uncouth

When he taps on the roof

This tempestuous fellow is tough to ignore.

Oh, nobody’s dancing with Gareth

Though he pulls us all out on the floor

With the wind and the rain

This storm’s a real pain

And I don’t know if we can all take anymore.

It’s really time somebody told you

And Gareth, I know that you’re keen

But you’re doing it wrong, dude

You come on to strong, you’d

Be better off toning it down. Is that mean?

What you see as attractive persistence

Feels more like, to me, being harrased.

It doesn’t feel sweet

To be swept off my feet

So I’m not going to dance with you, Gareth.

No, nobody’s dancing with Gareth

Though he knocks on the windows and doors

It’s really uncouth

When he taps on the roof

This tempestuous fellow is tough to ignore.

Oh, nobody’s dancing with Gareth

Though he pulls us all out on the floor

With the wind and the rain

This storm’s a real pain

And I don’t know if we can all take any more.

There are red kites wheeling in the evening light

The wind is forcing the clouds to flight

I’m heading south, and I’ve got the time

To only pay 4.99

Above my head the bridges pass

On the road below the white lines flash

The sun is setting, calm and fine

And I only paid 4.99

I saw my friends from far away

We laughed and talked all night and day

My head aches now from the beer and wine

But I only paid 4.99

I used to like to ride by train

But it isn’t worth the price or the pain

Of standing, crammed like a barn of kine

For a lot more than 4.99

The hills are drifting gently past

I think I can make my fruit gums last

Till I get back home, and then I’ll dine

And I only paid 4.99

I used to think, though its been a while

That a train was the way to ride in style

But such is the state of the northern line,

I’d rather pay 4.99

I did not intend to start like this, but here we are.

This is for/entirely the fault of Niamh.

Ha, ha, ha
Yo, I’ll tell you what I want, what I really really want
So tell me what you want, what you really really want
I’ll tell you what I want, what I really really want
So tell me what you want, what you really really want
I wanna, I wanna, I wanna, I wanna, I wanna really really really wanna poetry slam

If you want my verses, forget my prose
If you wanna get rich quick, poets don’t, god knows
Now don’t go wasting my pens and ink
Just get down some words and hope that they don’t stink.

I’ll tell you what I want, what I really really want
So tell me what you want, what you really really want
I wanna, I wanna, I wanna, I wanna, I wanna really really really wanna poetry slam

If you wanna be a poet, you gotta get lots of pens
Artsy handmade notebooks, workshops at weekends
If you wanna be a poet, you have got to write
That part’s really easy, but it could well be shite

Whatcha you think about that? Now you know what to do.
Say poems out loud on stage, is that for you?
So don’t speak too quickly, do memorise

Drying up on stage, you know, it’s never nice

Yo, I’ll tell you what I want, what I really really want
So tell me what you want, what you really really want
I wanna, I wanna, I wanna, I wanna, I wanna really really really wanna poetry slam.

If you wanna be a poet, you gotta get lots of pens
Artsy handmade notebooks, workshops at weekends
If you wanna be a poet, you have got to write
That part’s really easy, but it could well be shite

So here’s a story of poetry, you wanna get with me, you gotta listen carefully
We got personal grief that stretches your belief
We got dodgy MCs whose raps begin with CThe zines they never come for free, poems for a fee

And as for me, ha, you’ll see.
Slam your poetry and keep it under 3
Slam your poetry and keep it under 3

If you wanna be a poet
You gotta, you gotta, you gotta, you gotta, you gotta, slam, slam, slam, slam
dont go on forever
Slam your poetry and keep it under 3

Slam your poetry and keep it under 3

Slam your poetry and keep it under 3
(Repetition’s great, that tip is for free.)
If you wanna be a poet…