Plastic Tragic

Plastic tragic

The plastic bags, the plastic parts;
this is all plastic, this is all tragic.
It’s in our oceans, it’s in our seas;
it’s on our land, it should be banned.
The micro-plastic we do not see,
it’s in the fish that live in the sea;
it’s then on your plate, then in your gut,
so in the future do not tut.
Refuse to use plastic from this day on
and maybe the world might carry on.

Feeding time.

Feeding time at dusk;
feeding time’s a must.
The hens peck away at their seed;
the fatman watching with greed.
He sharpens his knives and greases his tray;
the chickens go in to lay.
The fatman slips on a slither of fat and his knives fly in the air;
the chickens watch on without a care.
The knives come down and slit his veins;
blood pours out like a leeking pen – then in comes running the killer hen.
It drinks his blood with lust;
because feeding time is a must.
It’s feeding time again.
It’s dusk.

Are you proud?

I’m proud of who I am;
I’m not black nor am I white –
and I’ll tell you this, I don’t give a shite.
I’m not a woman and not a man –
and what you think I don’t give a damn.
If I was blind or deaf and dumb
would you still be my chum?
If I was able-bodied or not at all –
I don’t care, so sod you all.
You should be proud of who you are,
so let them look and let them stare –
because in the end WE DON’T CARE.