ENGLANDS' FAVOURITE POEM
It's England's favourite poem 'cos it's cited every day
By an eloquent and self-selecting few
The sentiment most noted
The line most often quoted
Is the one that ends like this - Fuck you
I was groping for some words that might offend you
So what better place to start than, well, Fuck you
It has the benefit of brevity
And considerable longevity
So here it is again, Fuck you
There's no difficulty working out its meaning
Though it's never really saying much that's new
It works in any tongue,
Can be written said or sung
And it goes a bit like this, Fuck you
Now the lexicons abound with pithy phrases
But none of them has ever rung so true
It's got the others game and set,
It's the perfect epithet
You'll find it under "F" Fuck you
You'll hear it whispered quietly in the line-up
Muttered to the wardens in the queue
Shouted from the roofs
Or from under horses hooves
Come and get me constable Fuck you
It's a phrase the Germans learned the meaning of
A year or so before the end of what was later World War Two
But there still remained a stench
Of collaborating French
So especially for them Fuck you
It pays no heed to ethnicity or background
Never wonders who you are or what you do
Extra large or extra small,
This size fits 'em all
Says so on the label, see? Fuck you.
It's not contractually binding and has little legal weight
But that doesn't stop the lawyers trying to sue
So for solicitor and silk
And others of that ilk
In common law the parlance is Fuck you.
For explorers and conquistadors white spaces on the map
Were filled in after 1492
But as the abos said to Cook
When he came to take a look
We've been here a million years, Fuck you.
There are places on the planet that were never bombed enough
Although pasted every time the Fokkers flew
No town ere looked so right
As when seen through a bombsight
It it Ipswich? yes it it, so Suffolk you.
Great questions of our time have taxed the greatest minds
But philosophers don't really have a clue
If you want to make a start,
Put the horse before Descartes
Or as Nietzche would have said Fuck You.
I was hoping for a seconds breath of silence
An aeon in a grain of time or two
Peace extends in all directions,
Echoes send back soft reflections
Whoever brought the mobile phone Fuck you.
There's a smug and ugly group with hotline straight to God
Who have siezed the right to tell us what to do
Crusade Pogrom Revolution
Or Jihad is their solution
From the raging righteous save us please Fuck you.
It's a phrase that governments should try and listen out for
Be they fading red or worse still Tory blue
There's no difference at all
Now they're up against a wall
Any last requests? Fuck you.
It's easy to remember, it trips right off the tongue
It does a trick no other phrase can do
It's exactly what it states
Always communicates
Try it if you like, Fuck You.
I like the way that sounded, it's got a certain ting
It works no matter who you're talking to
Those two syllables sublime
Let's try them one more time
How's it go again? Fuck You.
It's England's favourite poem as the evidence here attests
It's an essential part of English social glue
And if you are offended
Why that's just what was intended
Does he mean me? Probably. Fuck You.
Alfred Lord Telecom. 2010. All rights reserved.
