The Potholes
I am riding my bike around Bell Green crossroads
The surface is porous and crumbles like a cheese
It is what it is not as well as what it is
The holes are so many, oh! English holy roads!
South of Mayow Park is a Disney set of chess
Kingsthorpe moves to Queensthorpe and Bishopsthorpe awaits
Exotic front gardens framed by brick walls and gates
Where potholes and tarmac draw a grey board of chess
Now my legs push north strongly to Ladywell
Her name's a shining bug, her name's a flying song
On my bike my back breaks and creaks riding along
Potholes digging deeper than an old water well
Britain! Glorious age! Scorn all that is foreign!
From your padded car seats, exotic front gardens!
What happened to your roads, your streets, and what happens
To your schools, hospitals, trains, tubes, to your children?
Great Britain you were once, Britain you fight to stay
On top of the (third) world
