1. Local Radio DJs
A savage local DJ cull!
A bloodbath, wrought, of course, in Hull!
Well, I must say, that does sound tempting -
But wait, would that not be pre-empting
The crucible of arbitration
Which must comprise our whole great nation?
Let me explain: if I consign
These DJs mongwards, 'fore their time,
To meet with dread annihilation,
Who will chatter to the nation?
If I drown Locals, in a bidet,
Who'll become a National DJ?
If he'd been sent to Spastic Heavens,
There would now be no Chris Evans;
If he to Spastic Hell had fallen
Who would be our Peter Allen?
If torn to bits by wolves he'd been,
We'd be bereft of Alan Green...
Hold on!...Yes, die, with grotesque violence!
Verdict: Spastic Ah, sweet silence!
And when you've finished with the DJ, hang this absurd cnut
2. Sepp Blatter
Sepp Blatter is a cnut, no question
A bigger cnut than Charlton Heston
Combined with evil Gordon Gecko
And Hitler, Pol Pot, Mao, and Deco
And
Chitty Chitty's Child-Catcher
Both City's Ben, and Maggie Thatcher
And, tossing in a vile chromosome
Macaulay Culkin, off of
Home Alone
Lector, Vader, Skeletor
And Rehash, off the place next door;
And yet, is bald, corrupt and fat dick
Blatter actually a Spastic?
Well, let's see, while we post hot air
He's a multi-millionaire
He goes to any game he likes
Plays golf with Eric, Keane and Shmikes
The halls of power know his footfall
The fecking twat's in charge of football
The Verdict, then: though he's a penis
Not Spastic - rather, Evil Genius.
"I granted a special exemption to Liverpool, with a nice Chianti"
3. High Street Banks
High Street Banks can feck right off
Like Lazio said to Dino Zoff
I'd sooner swap my wife, and car-keys
For Sincher's, than go back to Barclays
You fecking cnuts, I'm not impressed
With boring rates of interest
Or with the fact that I can't phone
My local branch, to have a moan
If I really want some guy
In Calcutta, or Mumbai
Explaining, like a post-labotomy
Mong, how little cash I've got to me
I'll start a thread on here, and natter
To mehro, or amolbhiata
It took the fecking clueless spaztards
Over a year to send a cashcard
Right, the deed is done, I've said it
You're overdrawn, slags, no more credit,
It's time to close up your account
Verdict: Spastics. You're going down.
The Barclay twins, shortly after I issued them with exploding CBEs
4. Airports
In general, places of transition
Can happily go to perdition
Bus-stops, tube-stops, stations, car-parks -
I hope they're gnawed to death, by aardvarks
In airports, though, I feel quite calm
There's little reason for alarm
(So long as, like me, you're Caucasian -
If you happen to be Asian
You'll most likely be blacklisted
Interrogated, charged, and fisted
For no real reason, like
L'Etranger)
Plus, there's always Pret a Manger
I really don't want that to die -
Egg and tomato, on fresh rye
Orange juice, a bag of crisps
As well as which, there's also this:
Airports are where you get on planes
Without them, we wouldn't have got to Spain
In 99, and won the cup
Verdict: Not Spastic - shut up.
In Sincher's ideal world, this would never have happened
5. Me
Now calm down, Sinch, don't be upset
We know what happens when you get
Excited - you leap round the room
Boning, till your head goes Boom.
How could I, who've annihilated
So many spastics, be spasticated?
And how could you, a spaz, who's bent
Be mongifaction's instrument?
Anteaters aren't scoffed by ants
Mahouts aren't trained by elephants
Hunters don't get shot by deers
Gay-bashers aren't bashed by queers
Cocks don't gobble down fellators
Man did not create Creators...
Hang on, yes we did, oh feck
What have you done there, old Plech?
Something's going very wrong
The end of me, and 1-O-Mong!
It's all happening much too fast!
Shit! Can't stop it!
Verdict: Spast-
