When you’ve spilt your red wine and just burnt your dinner
the bills keep turning up fat and your pay’s getting thinner
your boyfriend said he was blonde and it turns out he’s ginger
who’s to blame? The Bongo Bongos.
The neighbourhood sucks and your house is a slum
you were hammering a nail and you battered your thumb
your dad’s had a sex change and now he’s your mum
whose fault is that? The Bongo Bongos.
They’re lazy and selfish (and probably black)
they take what we send and they give nothing back
say they need it for food but they spend it on crack
a pal of a mate of a friend saw them do it once. The Bongo Bongos.
They’re a mythical race who don’t really exist
but they’re someone to shoulder the blame when you’re pissed
and you’re bitter and angry you’ve never been kissed
and it’s simply not fair. Those bloody Bongo Bongos.
But don’t ever think to begin to ask why
the rich get ever richer while the poor can’t get by
could it be something to do with dividing the pie?
Don’t bother your head with that. Blame the Bongo Bongos.
It’s irrational hate that defies explanation.
Aid isn’t the problem, but greed. Exploitation
means food banks for many who live in this nation
but when you’re pointing the finger in despair and frustration
and you think that it offers some consolation
to blame the Bongo Bongos...
you’re wrong, in summation.
© Steve Pottinger
Unrepentant 'bongo bongo land’ Ukip MEP says he'll 'apologise to country's ambassador
Steve Pottinger writes and performs poetry whenever and wherever he can. He has a website at stevepottinger.co.uk and can be found on twitter at @oneangrypoet