Bingo. Pop stars. Gossip. Tits.
Implants. Nose jobs. Hairy bits.
Champions’ League. Transvestite vicars.
Pics of duchesses in their knickers.
God save the Queen and the P.M.
That’s us. The unemployed are them.
Gossip. Bingo. Paedophiles.
Pop stars’ weddings and new hairstyles.
Gay men saying “woops” and “ducky”.
Economic booms. Aren’t you lucky?
Benefit scroungers. Footballers’ wives.
Tits. Soap opera actors’ lives.
Alliterative puns in big bold font.
This is what the public want.
Struggling artists? More like bums.
Get a job, you scrounging scum.
Backing dancers with nice teeth
and six-packs. That’s real culture, chief.
Karaoke competitions.
Boy bands’ wonderful ambitions.
Fake tans. Bingo. Tits. Bikinis.
Models sipping dry Martinis.
Go shopping. Watch some soaps and rom-coms.
Buy some Big Mac-flavoured condoms.
Pay your mortgage. Do as you’re told.
Stay like good sheep in your fold.
Go to Ibiza. Win a car.
The latest Reality TV star
is a brave one-legged soldier.
This is our sacred British culture.
