The 'Label' Generation - Poem by Bernard Franklin
If their trainers don’t say Reebok,
and their sweatshirts don’t say Nike,
if their tracksuits don’t say Adidas,
and they’ve a Raleigh for a bike.
If their foot ware don’t say Kickers,
or there’s no Umbro on their vest,
they just wont be seen in public,
if you haven’t bought the best.
If their car is not a soft-top,
with shiny alloy wheels,
if their jeans aren’t Levi 501’s,
they’ll know how hardship feels.
If their suits are not Armani,
or Saatchi didn’t make their shirt,
the derision from their friends and pals,
would really start to hurt.
If you’re taking them to Butlins,
when it’s Disney land they need,
if you take them to the chip shop,
when it’s McDonalds where they feed.
Girls use make up when they’re thirteen,
and bring home boyfriends far to soon,
but the spotty faced young suitors,
with their Tattoo’s make them swoon.
Their bedrooms look like Concord’s flight deck,
with every Gizmo known to man,
they’ll even want your sunbed,
for topping up their tan.
Some kids are smoking fags at fourteen,
and drinking beer at every chance,
they try to act mature at disco’s,
even though they cannot dance.
Street cred is their main religion,
peer pressure is their only aim,
the cost of buying all their goodies,
doesn’t bring them any shame.
When kids as young as seven,
reject their clothes, cause they’re not cool,
it’s the parents who will pay the price,
so tell me who’s the fool!
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