Thursday, 22 September 2022 11:09

'Enough Is Enough' and 'On the UK's Tory Leadership Contest'

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'Enough Is Enough' and 'On the UK's Tory Leadership Contest'

‘Enough is Enough’ Song

(to be sung to the tune of ‘The Gay Gordons’ or any song with the same measures)

O we’ve had enough of the ruling class,
We’ve had enough of their tricks,
So we’ll put the Tories out to grass
And knock the bosses for six.
Enough’s enough, enough’s enough,
We’ll not put up with it now.
Enough’s enough, enough’s enough,
We’re gonna show them how!

O we’ve had enough of the profiteers,
The bankers, bilkers and cheats;
It's our wage-arrears coming out of their ears
And they want us off the streets!
Enough’s enough, the system’s duff,
We’ve had it with Kwarteng and Truss.
If they think a kick in the teeth’s enough,
Then they haven’t reckoned with us!

O we’ve had enough of the management lies,
The tale they always concoct
When it’s them lined up for a salary-rise
And us whose wages are docked.
Enough’s enough, enough’s enough,
We’ve had it right up to here.
We want some smooth to go with the rough
And we’re not gonna disappear!

O we’ve had enough of our union reps
Being shown the boardroom door,
And we think it’s time we took some steps
To see that it happens no more!
Enough’s enough, enough’s enough,
The bosses are at it again;
They hoist the ladder when times are tough
And tell us our pleas are in vain.

Now we’ve had it with sleazy CEOs,
And we’ve had it with Tory MPs,
And we’ve had it with all the cash that flows
From our pockets so they live at ease.
Enough’s enough, enough’s enough,
We’ll give the bankers a shock
When the union tells them where to stuff
That 1-percent voting stock!

Yes, ‘enough’s enough’ is the cry that resounds
Through the factories, fields, and farms
Where the Levellers’ message is doing the rounds
And the words are a call-to-arms.
‘Enough’s enough’ of the same old bluff,
The same old fiddler’s tune,
For the bosses will find they’ve had enough
Of ‘enough’s enough’ very soon!

On the UK Conservative Party’s Final Leadership Hustings, September 2022

A hundred-and-fifty thousand votes
Those Party members cast.
A hundred-and-fifty thousand votes,
That’s all it took to burn our boats,
To have the bailiffs at our throats –
Gas-meters ticking fast, you know,
Those meters ticking fast.

We saw them sitting row on row,
The Tory rank-and-file.
We saw them sitting row on row,
The party faithful – same old show
Of ugly mugs with loads of dough,
All oozing hate and bile, you know,
Just oozing hate and bile.

By sixty, people have a face
That gives out all the signs.
By sixty, people have a face
That spills the beans, and what a place
This freak-show is for those who’d trace
The rich-folk’s worry-lines, you know,
Those rich-folk’s worry-lines.

They worry that the plebs might take
A quick look down their way.
They worry that the plebs might take
Their squatters’ chance at make-or-break,
And say ‘it’s for the kiddies’ sake’,
Since ‘that’s what their sort say, you know,
The kind of thing they say’.

They worry that ‘those union thugs’
Might get the folk onside,
Might not be just a bunch of mugs
But earn the people’s cheers and hugs
By pulling all the bankers’ plugs
To end their long free ride, you know,
Their decades-long free ride.

But most of all it’s that word ‘strike’
That spooks those conferees.
Their faces say ‘no wages-hike
For you lot, just get on your bike,
Or starve, whichever way you like’ –
They want you on your knees, you know,
Want you lot on your knees.

I watched them as they snarled and smirked,
I watched them as they girned,
And thought: well, plainly something’s worked,
Some ghastly dream has got them irked
(As one old snorer twitched and jerked),
And that’s a lesson learned, you know,
A useful lesson learned.

It tells us: brightest day may dawn
After the darkest night.
Those faces wreathed in hatred, scorn,
Derision, fear, like gargoyles born
Of haunted sleep, may, come the morn,
Be bathed in purest light, who knows?,
Fresh-bathed in purest light.

But keep it well in mind, that scene,
Like Goya’s glimpse of hell,
Projected on the TV screen
With all the avarice and spleen
That drives the Tory hate-machine
To cast its evil spell, you know,
That evil Tory spell.

We’ll beat the thing, the hideous thing,
The Tory scourge we dread.
We’ll march, we’ll shout, we’ll talk, we’ll sing,
We’ll agitate, join forces, spring
Surprise invasions, all to bring
The crisis to a head, you know,
This crisis to a head.

For there’s no antidote so strong
As what’s on offer there.
See how they flock, that aging throng,
To those who’ll do the gravest wrong,
And how they answer like a gong
When hate-talk fills the air, you know,
When hate-talk fills the air.

Let’s up and rid ourselves of those
Old tools of grift and greed.
Let’s spur the outrage as it grows,
Distinguish clearly: friends and foes,
Make sure it’s ours, the way it goes,
And stuff their filthy creed, you know,
Just stuff their filthy creed!

Read 1146 times Last modified on Thursday, 22 September 2022 11:28
Chris Norris

Christopher Norris is Distinguished Research Professor in Philosophy at the University of Cardiff. He is the author of more than thirty books on aspects of philosophy, politics, literature, the history of ideas, and music.

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