A Response To The Waek Boys

Just Like Martin And All His Cousins
Spitting, Smoking And Re-Arranging His Drawers
A Lighter In Hand, He's Heavy Bred
He'll Not Know The Spoils Of Wars

Making Unedited Filibusters On Camera
To Those Who The Council Gave The Lane
Nomadic Nobodies Who Came From Another Town
With Enough Stones For Every Window Pane

Some Overweight And All State-Paid
Got To Keep The Children In Reeboks
Though It's Changed Since His Grandfather's Day
Once Practiconers Of The Dodgy Poor Box

"Our Clenched Fists Are Our Birthright"
His Father Would Tell His Boys
"The Dirt You Fight On Your Birthright"
You Don't Spill Blood To Make A Lot Of Noise

His Nights Are Names, Names Swapping Names
"Your Father Beat My Father Into His Tomb"
He Awakes To Find His After-Hours Gone
Must Have Lost It In A Trashed Hotel Room

CK