Song of the day – 445: Plan B
We’ve been waiting for this. Class warfare, because if no one steps up to the plate then the fucking super-rich will keep getting fucking super-richer.
Ask George. George knows.
This song has many qualities: menace, swagger, insolence, humour, anger, confusion, incitement, a killer chorus that’s bound to get misinterpreted and misused. It’s a voice for our … I type “our”, but of course I’m a 50-year-old living in white Brisbane … times. It’s a sound of the UK that doesn’t shy away from what’s happening in the UK. It inspires. It chills. It elucidates. Does that make it unusual? Not from where I’m standing. It might in a world of BAFTAs and Q Music Awards and Ivor Novello Awards and fucking amoral music industry scumbags and folk who still think music should only be made by white middle-class males playing guitars singing ‘edgy’ lyrics about girls and drugs.
This is what I understand rock’n’roll – call it whatever term you like – can be. This is Plan B. This makes me proud to be part-British.
Oi! I said Oi!
What you looking at you little rich boy!
We’re poor round here, run home and lock your door
Don’t come round here no more, you could get robbed for
Real (yeah) because my manors ill
You could get lost in this concrete jungle
New builds keep springing up outta nowhere
Take the wrong turn down a one way junction
Find yourself in the hood nobody goes there
We got an eco friendly government,
They preserve our natural habitat
Built an entire olympic village
Around where we live without pulling down any flats
Give us free money and we don’t pay any tax
NHS healthcare, yes please many thanks
People get stabbed round here there’s many shanks
Nice knowing someone’s got our backs when we get attacked