The English Looters' Prayer

Our father, who art in prison

My mum knows not 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 are happy to loot those

Who defend stuff against us.

Lead us not into employment

But deliver us free housing.

For thine is the telly, the Blueberry and the Vodka,

For ever and ever