Tommy, you did rather well,

So, pat yourself on back,

Your rulers pillaged most the world,

But now this world comes back,

To taunt your sons and daughters,

It’s karma for disgrace,

It’s your land that now is colonised,

By every creed and race.

You left your little terraced homes,

To plunder foreign fields,

Your comrades lie in homes of clay,

Their home’ another’s creed.

Their kitchen, bedroom, backyard loo,

Now hears the words of Allah,.

You strutted over Germany,

You were a foolish fellah.

Whilst you fought on foreign fields,

Westminster let them in,

Your leaders fought for plunder,

And now you pay their sin.

The children of your children,

By mosque and temple play,

You pay the price for selling out,

Your folk for traitors pay.

.

Michael Walsh Forbidden Poetry

‘They no longer need to imprison rebel writers like they did with Julian Assange. They just need to destroy your income generating mechanisms and silence you by taking away your means of making a living.’ –  JACKSON HINKLE