Fuckall t Lose

  A poem for election week :-

If yew int got nothin
there's fuckall t lose
an ev'rythin t gain.

I bin standin
on-a street corners
buskin far too long.

A dragon flag draped
( a bit manky-lookin)
over my shiverin shoulders.

Crowds pass by f'r-a game
singin theyer ol ymns,
with theyer three feathers on :

daffs f'r-a day,
pissed as fuckin farts,
droppin a few coins.

I play s many tewns,
sneakin in my own songs ;
Eaves an Stevens an Jarman.

Quick pic f Facebook an Instagram,
some'll stop an lissen ;
always on the edge o things.

Opefully, one day centre stage
performin f the ones oo gather,
ones oo'll finelee make a change.