No Room At The Incarceration
I've committed a crime,
And I want to do time,
I want to do porridge and bird -
But the Home Office melons
Won't sentence us felons -
That's the law, and I think it's absurd.
Here's handcuffs (I nicked 'em)
But you say I'm the victim
Of circumstance. Yes, I feel rooked:
I trained as a mugger
Of an old hoodie-hugger.
Now you say that my cell's double-booked.
It's my right. I demand
To be left on remand,
And to slip on my bright orange bib.
But my sins are not serious?
Is the law so imperious,
So foolish, so stupidly glib?
Community service?
What a horrible nerve! Is
My right to be banged up at end?
This Britain is cocked up
If I can't be locked up –
How else may we rogues re-offend?
For Her Majesty's shilling
I have to try killing –
That's logic? Quite frankly, it jars.
In that case, I fear,
I must murder a beer –
Or pull one (I'll be behind bars).
