I'd do anything for my mother. She brought me into this world And she was there during those teenage years When I was all Hormones and acne And now I try to pay her back Anyway I can Often and without fail Except when she asks me to go to the shops And get her a Daily Mail.
I mean, What if someone sees me?
I’m not religious But I believe that one day, God Was violently sick And that the vomit spewed forth In a never ending cascade, A torrent of absolutely disgusting Relentless upchuck And when she finished she Wiped her chin and said, There, I’ve gone and created The Daily Mail.
Oh thou art a putrid and filthy concoction In those pestilential pages A generation booms its last and softly dies Amid sofa advertisements, Nodding in agreement with letters to the editor, Opinion dressed up as fact. Your headlines are misleading, Your logic is twisted, You stand for an England Which never existed. You’re a comic with no humour Your editorials are absurd Peddling anecdote and rumour And about as patriotic as a turd.
There’s a middle England somewhere, A place of patios and pathos, Middle class porcelain and so achingly white Yet you wouldn’t know it because Everyone’s so bloody crimson with rage Because of what they read on the page Of the Daily Mail. The lace curtains twitch When there’s someone in the cul de sac Because nothing sells better Than righteous indignation And a subtle reassurance that The reader’s prejudices are normal. Anger has become performative And inevitably, heteronormative.
Oh, Daily Mail, Oh you rancid hate-mongers, Oh,You peddlers of puke, Oh, You snivelling badger-breathed scumbags, Oh, You’re a parasite on the face of intellectual debate, A fart in the public toilet of common decency, A ranting screaming spitting shower of bastards Who make Mussolini look like the Chuckle Brothers. I’d rather snog an electric eel Than be seen Carrying your stench-emitting Saliva spitting Gibberish-dribbling Mould-seeping Sorry-assed excuse for casual racism And institutionalised transphobia.
Oh dear! They haven't got any, Is what I say to the Muv When I come back from the shops Empty handed. Well, she says, It is popular.