"Bumping Them Off"

Passing Freemasons Hall
Pubs full of dickie bows all posh
I really want to run amok
If only I had a cosh.
What we need is an ethical suicide bomber
Explosives round the waist
But one that only kills the rich
And secretive Masons without haste.
Can you imagine the fun we'd have
If we could pick and choose
Bumping off those we despise
With nothing at all to lose.
I don't want to play 'God'
Religious nutters would be on my list
Not to mention a thousand and one people
Who drive me round the twist.
Bus drivers who ignore bus stops
And cyclists who jump lights
People who talk bollocks at football
Ruining my midweek nights.
By that I mean certain new-veau's
Who know nothing about the game
The ones who fuck things up
But never take the blame.
Bar staff in boozers
Who drown my drinks with ice
Even if they plead for mercy
I wouldn't think twice.
Poets who say they like my poetry
Then tell me where I go wrong
Plus those who go to Spoken Word
Then break into song.
Shoppers in a supermarket
Who take hours to pack their bag
Everyone who voted for Thatcher
The evil of evilest Tory hag.
All those who cheer at Venereal Fields
When t*****g and mitcham score
And while I'm including football
I'd chuck in the Lev'red scum for sure.
People who like to help out
Repeatedly tell you when they fix a plug
But when they make a hash of something proper
It's the fault of every other mug.
Cyclists who drag their contraptions
Onto a packed commuter train
Taking up the space of three others
Driving me insane.
Do you remember the Neutron Bomb
Bumping off people as buildings stand
Can you imagine if I had a class war version
Right here in my hand.
Bye, bye Oxbridge toffs
Who taunt homeless by burning a score
Racist EDL and UKIP tossers
You'd simply be no more.
Our high streets would be safer
The end of street preachers serenading hate
Anyone who offends me
You'd soon know your fucking fate.
I could go on for hours
But I think you get my drift
I'm the only one on this planet
To handle this killing gift!



Dulwich Poet 8th July 2017



(This poem came out of nothing. I walking through the West end, and saw untold posh people, dressed up to the nines, going into an evening function at the Freemasons Hall...)