Pop Lyric Sheets: The Big Kiss-off

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The Independent Culture
An employment tribunal was told this week that an award-winning black DJ was sacked without warning, as the London dance station he worked for tried to become more `white' and mainstream after `restructuring' by its new owners

Was it not the sound of London

Sailing into shipwrecked morning

With a hip midshipman spinning

Lashed on to the wheel and grinning?

At which point in urban culture

Can we claim we've made advances?

Is it when the radio plays

And half a city wakes and dances?

Was it not the sound of London

Shrink-wrapped glossy in the evening

Shopping in the Seven-11

Lost in Walkman radio heaven?

Ironing, humming, prior to clubbing

Planning weekends to the beat

When the pirate got her licence

And the airwaves tasted sweet.

Meanwhile, back at Money Central

Nothing's broke but someone reckons

They can fix it, make it better.

Corporate Valhalla beckons

And the carve-up then begins

At the table, fondling figures

Lounge the lap-top ayatollahs

All discussion turns to dollars

Never mind your million listeners

Never mind the dance-floor charts

Never mind this handsome deejay

With his hotline to their hearts

Far too slack, the format's dating

With a captive audience waiting

In the advertiser's cage

Time to change the sound to beige

Was it not the sound of London?

If it was, it's sorted now

Cleared out in a dustbin-liner

By the programme's new designer

Since they know what London doesn't

And more beige is what they lack

Maybe they should paint the taxis

Just in case they look too black

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