In a week where a Facebook whistleblower is legally gagged from speaking while our motorways are gridlocked, the only thing moving faster than the M4 traffic is the sheer volume of fly-tipping in the Brecon Beacons. A hapless athlete won a small fortune after her boss ghosted her harder than a Libby Instone was by the medical system, proving that in modern Britain, the only way to get justice is to sue the absolute pants off someone. Meanwhile, a disability-faking criminal attempted a handcuffed getaway, sadly giving Parliament new ideas for Prime Minister's Questions. It’s a rubbish-strewn, rain-soaked Monday, so do mind the quicksand at the seaside—and the even stickier bureaucratic quagmire of the NHS.
🎵 (s)Hit of the Day 🎵
Version 1
Version 2
📜 Lyrics 📜
[Verse 1]
The M4 is a car park, the rain comes pouring down
And somewhere in the distance, there's a river turning brown
A tonne of fly-tipped rubbish, seen from three miles away
And volunteers in Beacons cleared the mess again today
The algorithm watches, and the injunction holds its tongue
A whistleblower sits silent while the corporation's sung
[Chorus]
We're clogged, we're clogged, we're sinking in the mire
The system's backed up completely, and the situation's dire
We cannot speak, we cannot move, we cannot catch a breath
We're gridlocked in the sunshine and we're drowning in the depths
Yes, everything is stuck and the pipes are all blocked up
And we're clogged
[Verse 2]
She drove eight hundred miles for a meeting with her boss
Who couldn't be bothered showing up, delighted by the loss
One hundred forty thousand is the price of being ignored
A victory for workers who just wanted to be heard
But Libby was a time-waster at twenty years of age
The urgent care dismissed her pain and turned another page
She died in agony while they checked their watches twice
The disconnect is lethal and the system isn't nice
[Chorus]
We're clogged, we're clogged, we're sinking in the mire
The system's backed up completely, and the situation's dire
We cannot speak, we cannot move, we cannot catch a breath
We're gridlocked in the sunshine and we're drowning in the depths
Yes, everything is stuck and the pipes are all blocked up
And we're clogged
[Bridge]
An eight-year-old in Cornwall didn't stand a chance
A five-year-old is fighting, trapped in circumstance
A woman sank in quicksand on a beach in Rhyl today
A perfect metaphor for how the vulnerable get played
The N.H.S. is swallowing the people it should save
While social care has crumbled and is filling up the grave
And driver faked disability to run away from cops
The system's slow to save you but it never really stops
[Instrumental Break - Muted brass and wheezing saxophone]
[Verse 3]
So here we sit in Britain, in the year of twenty-six
With rubbish in our rivers and our justice politics
The legal injunctions gag us and the traffic doesn't move
And apocalyptic rainfall proves there's nothing left to prove
We're gridlocked and we're silenced and we're ankle-deep in slime
And everything is wonderful and everything's on time
[Outro]
We're clogged
Yes, we're clogged
Just completely... clogged
[Dampened brass fade out]