Class Hatred

The venom was tangible
As she pranced from her lair,
The words flew out
Like snakes in the air,
She hated she loathed
With cherished despair,
This middle class girl
With the indelicate air.

‘Our folk music festival’s
No good any more ,
Because of the Chavs
Who break the law.
They’re heinous they’re brutes
They’re rotten to the core.

But the worst thing I can think of
The very worst thing of all,
Is not just that they
Shout at old ladies,
Not just that they eat crap galore,
Not just that they live on council estates
Or that their clothes are cheap and torn,
No, their very worst crime
The one we deplore,
Is that people called Chavs
Are POOR,

They’re worse than the coloureds
(Though I don’t use that word)
They’re worse than the tarts
The Polish or the Kurds,
They’re worse than the gays,
Who we now think are sweet,
Chavs are the lowest
The bottom of the heap.

But the worst thing I can think of,
The very worst thing of all,
Is not just that they’re rude and lazy,
Not just that they do benefit fraud,
Not just that they all act the same
They way they drink and brawl,

No, their very worse crime,
The one we deplore,
Is that people called Chavs
Are POOR.’

<previous poem next poem>