“I’m in a rather dangerous position with Bob, I trust him with my life”
“I go to Africa a lot, aid really works”
“What will our generation be remembered for — the internet? Yes. The war against terror? Yes. Wouldn’t it be great if we could also be remembered as being the ones who set about making poverty history?”
Let’s help the poor with a pop concert.
Let Britney show what’s beneath her skirt.
Let Janet Jackson’s nipple pop out
for those who fate rewards with drought.
Let them pay for our right to be carefree
while the earth is dismantled tree by tree.
And in return we’ll let Coldplay sing,
(or whimper — but there’s always Sting.)
Let the poor in slum and village afar,
Hear the strums of Paul McCartney’s guitar.
Let his nipple out, he’s a Beatle is he not,
if it will remind us of the poor we forgot.
Let African children trounced by disease
be healed by a waft of Highland breeze.
Let Mr Blair try and get Bush to care
while Mrs Blair complains: “It’s not fair —
Dennis Thatcher made a few bob,
nobody called him a useless slob
(they did). Why can’t I the PM’s wife —
it’s because I’m a woman I get this strife.
If I was a man I could work on my tan —
wear shades, find drummer, form band.
Then I could be lead singer of U2,
Talk bollocks in Canada and at the EU.”
Thousands and thousands line up for tickets
to save a few poor bastards with rickets
as the West heals its guilt for the death
in Iraq with aid, for others darkies’ health.
If only we could secure our tomorrows
by putting our faith in Geldofs and Bonos.
London, June 11, 2005