Celebriphillia


Schooled to sing or dance or act,
worshipped as deities.
Sold their souls, paid to distract:
A vocal bourgeoisie.
What do they know? What do they care?
Countin’ out thirty pieces.
Do as I say, not as I do.
Dumb proles lickin’ up their faeces.

Since when have they the God given right
to tell you how to live your life?

I wish I were a “star”.

I wish I were a star, oooh,
I’d set the record straight!
About the tribe, ruling your life,
ordaining the new slave states.
All it takes is a “lucky break”,
welcome to the “Hollywood” clan.
Don’t know shit, but first to crow,
the puppeteer’s front man.

PRE-CHORUS

CHORUS

I wish I were rich and famous,
a chosen “personality”.
I’d fly hither in my private jet,
enthuse the “programme” on TV.
Cheer on the State, their wars and hate,
a never-ending one man talk show.
Spread guilt and shame, then board my plane,
back to my walled, gated chateaux.

PRE-CHORUS

CHORUS

©31.8.2018 Andrew Robert Chapman

strippin’ proles of golden fleeces.
About the tribe, ruling your life,
the one you can’t criticize.
I’d tell some home truths.
a favourite prole personality.
Cheer on the State, their wars and hate,
in perfect reverse psychology.
In the public limelight


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