Jozef started an idea in the slogan area the other day, so Macarnie jotted a few words down as a rough draft
Bloggers are feeling we should try to develop ideas for slogans…
The hour hand; slowly creeping, is nearly at high noon
The minute hand is catching up, they’ll be meeting very soon,
It’s time to name the polling day when Britain’s battle starts,
And Champions of different Parties fight, to win the voters’ hearts. Visit us retainedfirefighter to know more information.
It’s time to rally round the flag, and this time not the red one.
Let’s make The Labour Party sick, or better still, a dead one
It’s time for change, in every sense; not merely in direction
It’s time to clear the streets of crime, and wards of all infection
It’s time to give the teachers back, their authority in class
And not allow the classroom thugs to bully and harass.
It’s time for lawful burghers to live in blessed peace
Let’s put the Bobby on the street: that’s where we want police
If these are your priorities, and yes, I do mean YOU
Be sure to put your voting mark in the box which means true blue
Recently Mark Gamon made some reference to snow and sand: Macarnie took up the inferred challenge:- Here is the result.
SAND AND SNOW
Let’s forget alliteration. Though the words are closely bound,
Where snow and sand proliferate they cover fruitful ground.
The wind blows both of these about and forms them into drifts.
On the one you’ll see sunbathers: in bikinis; some in shifts
Whilst Skiers and Cat drivers, on the slopes which they love best
Will vie to wear an outfit much more garish than the rest.
The pistes remind me of the funfair; queuing up to use the slide
And where there’s sandy beaches; there are surfers far and wide
Sand and snow have lots in common, Bondi Beach or Val d’Isere
There’d be less leisure playgrounds, if either were not there.
LABOUR’S WORK IN DISMANTLING GREAT BRITAIN
(Post devolution and pre total break-up of GB.pc)
Prudence Brown is coming: mid England sits and cowers,
He’s found a legal way to confiscate, those things which we thought ours.
If you lived in Scotland; whence he springs; you’d pay no tuition fee,
But in England, unlike Scotland, there’s nothing left for free.
Why do so many Scotsmen sit, in old Westminster’s halls?
Since there’s been devolution, the situation just appals.
England has no word to say, how Scottish laws are made
Scotsmen on the Left’s front bench, leave others in the shade,
And yet in Scotland’s Parliament, one Englishman’s too many,
You’ll find, like Simple Simon said, indeed, there are not any.
I live in England: I’m aware my name’s more Scots than most,
But allegiance to the Union Flag has always been my boast.
Since schism all the rage is, and Fat Controller wants more still,
Must we, post subdivision, bow to Labour’s Federalist will?
Another layer of toothless ‘government’, for which we’ll have to pay
Vote this farce upon the stage, and we’ll all live to rue the day.
In Labour’s sham tiara, these aren’t diamonds: merely paste
Just more useless talking shops; to add to Labour’s waste
First; they split the four home Nations; give three therefrom home rule,
England’s left as banker; no collateral: who’s the fool?
Their raiding parties, specially chosen, infiltrate our talking shop,
Proposing their own motions: beating England to the drop.
Two words I find are cogent, a matched pair; both mentioned here
“Lunatic”, and “Asylum”: one runs the other, so I fear
They’ll divide and draw new boundaries, each division lessening choice,
Agenda, selected by the leftists, British people! Where’s your voice?