. . . contemporary version . . .
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 & forgive us our looting,
as we're happy to loot those who defend stuff against us,
lead us not into employment but deliver us free housing,
for thine is the teles, the Burberry & the Bacardi,
forever and ever...Innit
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 & forgive us our looting,
as we're happy to loot those who defend stuff against us,
lead us not into employment but deliver us free housing,
for thine is the teles, the Burberry & the Bacardi,
forever and ever...Innit
