Sometimes it must be difficult not to feel as if
You really are a Cliff
When fascists keep trying to push you over it
Are they the lemmings?
Or are you Cliff?
Or are you, Cliff?
What are you doing, Neil?
To make a meal, Neil? (it's surreal)
From totalitarian vegetables.
How much does it cost, Neil...?
House, house, house
Oh, you are made of stone
But you are not alone-
[First, an extreme close-up of Rick squeezing a spot/boil/pimple]
And sometimes down
But always around.
Pollution, are you coming to my town?
Or am I coming to yours?
We're on different buses, pollution
But we're both using petrol.
Long, blue boomerang...
THE PEOPLE'S POEM
What do you think you're doing, pig?
Do you really give a fig, pig?
And what's your favourite sort of gig, pig?
Or the black and white minstrel show?
RICK'S TEEN ANGUISH POEM
(from Bachelor Boys: The Young Ones Book)
am I so much more sensitive than everybody else ?
do I feel things so much more acutely than them,
and understand so much more.
I bet I'm the first person who's ever felt as rotten as this.
could it be
that I'm going to grow up
to be a great poet and thinker, and all those other wankers
class are going to have to work in factories or go on the dole?
yes, I think it could.
RICK'S TROTSKY POEM
(from Bachelor Boys:The Young Ones Book)
Today, I saw a dog,
Yes, a dog.
Talking to a pig,
Yes, a pig.
They were on the pavement,
Not brotsky or crotsky or drotsky or frotsky.