Fag-it girls, pushing their babies
With their bums out and their tits out
Their attitudes out… on display
Furry bomber jackets
With their midriffs showing… in winter.
Fag-it girls saying fuck,
Like it means something,
When really it means nothing at all
Just a space filler
Shouting that they’ve got fuck all to say.
Fag-it girls, pony tails bobbing
High on their heads, tight and severe
Like a penis,
A symbol, that they’re rock solid
Ignoring the screams
Of their soiled dirty children
In their soiled dirty pushchairs
Can’t buy nappies but money for smokes.
Fag-it girls with pierced noses.
and un-breakfasted babies
A squashed sausage roll in a blue cold hand
But they put on their make-up to hit the streets
To bob and posture and preen
Fag-it girls with fifty pence meters
And third floor flats at seventeen
With one kid and an early one cooking,
She’s not showing yet
And he’s long gone
Fag-it girls teaching fuck all to their children
Like it means something.