Britainia from my window

The scene from my caravan window,
On a sunny bank holiday monday,
A row of shops across the road,
Layered up with flats,

2 recent additions, maybe turkish or iraq,
Those poor souls, who's journey we do not know,
left to the mercy of the children,
who's parents still don't know,

I see the approach first,
The bravest or the dumbest,
maybe six in total, 4 boys two girls,
Not a teen among them, youngest is probably 10

They throw the stones at the window,
And again and again,
finally a reaction, a chase is what they want.
But the dumb little children call them paki's and off with it they run,

Is it the children I blame for being so ill informed,
Or is it the parents to which I should direct my scourn,
To be fair I can't lay a finger,
Cause when i was that age in this estate,
I was just the same little war monger,

He finally meets their demands and chases them into the estate,
But I'm sure next time I see him,
he will be the first to admit,
That giving in was a stupid old mistake.

Cause just round the corner those parents lie in wait,
And despite all his protests, those parents only have hate,
They've seen it in the news,
His freebies from the state,
So when the children bring one home with them,
The last thing they want is a debate.