Orange is Not the Only Fruit

Orange is Not the Only Fruit

Orange is not the only fruit.

Trotskyism is not the only trut.

Tony Cliff lived on oranges.

They expected me to do the same.

I was prepared to do my porridges.

But I wouldn't play the game.

the Bourgeoisie.

Havent got a monopoly on fame.

The proletariat.

Haven't a monopoly on pain.

There are many roads to revolt.

There isn't only one single malt.

When Marx made his proletarian prophecy.

The proletariat was far from self sufficiency.

So the secretariat came to later rule Russia with hypocrisy.

Neither Washington nor Moscow.

Is a slogan that's true.

But international socialism.

Is just round 2.

Of a futile fight to the death to prove who knew best.

Smith or Marx.

You can bet our barks.

Not worse than our bites.

Cliff said he never saw a movie better than its trailer.

Socialism in one country was a failiure.

Just ask David Cameron's tailor.

Would socialism on one planet be any better.

I wouldn't be a better.

I might end up a debtor.

Socialism is good medicine.

For capitalocracy's ills.

but the hypocrisy fills.

The Albert Hall

When the proletarian dictator.

Says there's no jam till later.

Perhaps it's time to move beyond 19th century notions of free markets and planned economies.

That are in turn based on 19th century scientific paradigms.

That haven't stood the test of time.

One solution evolution.

The rutting season has passed.

each must look to his own in this winter fast.

Our discontent is great.

Such is our fate.

But smashing up the larder.

Will not make the lard go any farther.

Of our toast.

We must make the most.

yes our rulers are crooks.

But those who keep the books.

Always will be.

Keep an eye on Google.

It may seem frugal.

To put all knowledge online.

But one day they will fine.

Those who cross them.

On the collective mind.

they will emboss them.

A mark of death.

Till our last breath.

The thought police.

Will be the least.

Of your problems.

Such is the ubiquity of life.

we will not see the end of our strife.

The king is dead.

Long live the king.

you can chop off his head.

But eternally lived is the thing.

That makes us defer and centralise our own authority to an executive.

It's hard to bring ourselves to give.

A fuck.

We'd rather try our luck.

Hiring one barbarian.

To drive out another.

Then we can go back to our lover.

Only too late do we discover.

That he has us over.

A barrel.

And we must now sing a carol.

To a king.

10 percent to him to bring.

In a systematic theft.

Of our tithe we are bereft.

With it he builds roads.

To carry heavier loads.

Of your grain

It's not quite the same.

As burnin and lootin and stuff.

But he still makes off with you cuff.

Links.

Rechts and rights.

Become do's and don'ts.

And do as I say.

Not as I do.

Now make me a brew.

If only we knew.

In advance.

That the record company advance.

Would lead us on a dance.

To becoming a slave.

Id rather be Chas and Dave.

Than have to become a former artist.

Who has lost his name.

In a musical game. I guess what Im saying is this.

Im sure Im horribly missed.

But the party is better off without me.

If Im gonna talk like this.

Orange is not the only fruit.

Kiwis are an absolute hoot.

Ewan Povey