Our Father who art in prison,
Only mum knows his name.
Thy riots come.
Read it in the Sun.
In Birmingham, as it is in London.
Give us this day our welfare bread,
And forgive us our looting,
As we're happy to loot those who defend stuff against us,
And lead us not into employment,
But deliver us free housing.
For thine is the spliff,
And the Blackberry and the lager,
Forever and ever,
Innit.
