In a blacked-out barn for sky high price,
Is Joe Public, tired, regaled with past sporting delights.
Lineker and Barker shove some shiny gold prize
Into the arms of a young starlet, eyes in headlights.
Paint a vulgar picture of prime-time T.V
Dressing up singing dolls on a television screen
For Yuletide stockings for children who scream
“Oh Mummy I like Jamelia, not Javine”
The wise judge tell us it’s cruel to be kind
And kind to be cruel, if didn’t you mind
To hapless contestants, before he finds
A cute-looking young singer to spice up his sex life.
Or there’s a Knightsbridge svengali with cash on his mind
After the Christmas flesh that we so fancifully fry
He says “In February the quiet streets mean money is dry
We’ll hire out Earls Court and Kylie will smile”
And smile she does, held aloft by racked gigolos
Mouthing words to a hit from 8 months ago,
That didn’t really sell as well as she hoped
So she’s back on the stage, one last stones throw.
And the Haircuts. So Toni and Guy and angular with
Little blonde tassels peeking out to kiss
The Dior-sprayed collar of our Pop star, the publics
Number one bad boy, a smack and crack addict.
Which means he’s struggling to speak, but his PR man directs
That while he’ll lament it in public, in private, says persist.
Cobain, Morrison, Jones, Joplin, Hendrix.
For the people that these leave, riches exist.