Below are many poems written about The Sun, if you see your poem and want to add your name to it or want your poem added to this page then contact us.
40 Years of Lies
40 years of The S*n enterprise,
40 years of hurtful lies.
‘So treat yourself to some champagne,
While we make our money from good men’s pain’
40 years of headline highs,
40 years of headline lies,
‘The Truth’ you wrote, large and bold,
Ignoring the hurt as you count your gold.
40 years of football spies,
40 years of football lies,
‘They robbed the dead and turned up late,
Oh how we laugh at those scousers’ fate’
20 years since you twisted the knife,
While we cried and mourned this loss of life,
Never forget and never forgive,
Whether 40 years or as long as you live.
It’s Boss The Sun
It’s boss The Sun, its only 10p
I buy The Sun, just look at ‘Page 3’
Corr’ look at them, the biggest knockers’
To take into work and decorate your lockers
Don’t be silly, remember those lies
Those lies you forget, when you look at Tiff’s thighs
We robbed the dead, spat on the poor
Lies, lies, lies, of that I assure
It’s only a paper, how’s it so bad
I hate preachers like you; you’re only a lad
Crosswords at lunch, they’re always dead fun
C’mon Chris, just buy me The Sun
You forget, what happened in ’89
Ninety-six crushed, your friends and mine
The Sun came straight in, told all those tales
Robbing the dead, those horrible Scouse males
That was years ago, give them a chance
Don’t be shade, I’m making a stance
It’s got dead boss sport, and fantasy football
Great articles, from flies on the wall
It’s full of lies, why can’t you see
Knobhead’s like you, obsessed with Page 3
Have some remorse, think of the dead
C’mon mate, read The Echo instead
Nah, its great, sound for the horses
Tells great short stories, like alien forces
Who raped Toyah, we all want to know
They always tell us, four weeks before the show
Who gives a shit, about Toyah or whoever
For fucks sake lad, I thought you were clever
At the end of the day, lies they told the nation
Imagine it be me, a friend or relation
I’m sorry lad, but I can’t see you point
I know how you feel, and I will disappoint
But for me, well it’s just a good read
So stop talking to me, there’s no fucking need
Well if that’s how you feel, there’s nowt’ I can do
But just believe this: nothing is true
It’s full of shit, and that’s why it’s dead cheap
People like you, just wanting a peep
Chris Murphy
Mist over the Mersey
Mist over the Mersey
will not hide those who lied.
Mist over the Mersey
Those 96 who sadly died.
Mist over the Mersey
we won’t ever forget.
Mist over the Mersey
the S-n will always regret.
Mist over the Mersey
for the S_n is fading fast.
Mist over the Mersey
for the black shadow the S-n cast.
Mist over the Mersey
For we are still here and how.
Mist over the Mersey
they thought we’d be gone by now.
Mist over the Mersey
never buy the S-n.
Mist over the Mersey
whatever land your from.
Mist over the Mersey
19 Years of pain.
Mist over the Mersey
will it ever be the same.
Mist over the Mersey
judgement day is near.
Mist over the Mersey
show pride, hope and no fear.
Mist over the Mersey
The S-n won’t clear the mist.
Mist over the Mersey
not till we get JUSTICE.
Unknown
The Truth
The Truth
You want the truth?
No, didn’t think you would.
The truth is not the stuff to shift a rag crammed with, and written by tits.
The truth is standing on doorsteps, afraid to knock because his mother is there.
The truth is carrying a coffin with him in it.
The truth is a crate of cheap lager still in the boot of the car that somehow stuttered
over the Pennines.
The truth is seeing your dad cry and your mother sob – knowing they feel guilty for
being happy that you came back.
The truth is getting his record collection – the one you always envied, but being too
scared to listen, knowing the emotions that lie in those pieces of plastic.
The truth is his bedroom, his girlfriend, and the questions. What was he really like?
Knowing she’ll never know.
The truth is lies.
Lies to his mum – The last time I saw him he was fine. When he was sweating and
screaming.
Lies to yourself.
I had to move.
It wasn’t my fault he fell.
Not my fault his face was blue as I stood, hands by my side, feet on the ground and
watched.
The truth is here.
The truth is in me, in you, we know
the truth.
The truth for them is different.
Their truth is 10p special offers.
Always cheap.
Not as cheap as life though.
The Truth and Gotcha.
Hundreds dead, would be smart-arses slap their own sweaty backs as they smirk at
their cleverness.
Their truth is hunting down child abusers.
But look: “Here’sJayne, and she’s only 17″
Down boy.
Their truth is that they are not, and never will be
anything.
Our truth is that we are, and always will be
something.
Something very special.
That is The Truth.
DirtyHenry
Boycott
It told its lies to the world, with every issue it sold.
It wrote filth, it broke hearts, with its headlines in bold.
It turned heroes into villians, with every repulsive word.
Never, ever forgive it, and make your feelings heard.
Then came a so called apology, made through gritted teeth.
A shallow, hollow gesture, pinned to a red fans wreath.
Nearly 20 years on, will it ever undo the damage it has done.
Until then, never ever forgive it, and continue to boycott The S*n.
Alloy
DON’T BUY THE SUN!
“The Sun’s dead sound, it’s got birds with big knockers.”
Take them in work and decorate your lockers.
The sport in it’s boss, especially the racin’.
And the ‘oroscopes tell us the day we’re all facin’”.
“Don’t you remember, you ignorant swine?
All the lies they told in eighty-nine.
Let me remind you just what they said.
We pissed on the bizzies and robbed our own dead.”
“But the telly page’s sound, they’ve got bingo and lotto.
And on one of the pages there’s a nice little motto.
Anyway Evo I just didn’t know.
It doesn’t matter now it was so long ago.”
“It does fuckin’ matter! It matters a lot.
People had children they’ve no longer got.
People had fathers they’ll no longer see.
They said that I killed them, they said it was me!”
“Shut up will you Evo. You’re always bangin’ on.
Hillsborough and justice, all that carry on.
Anyway Evo get out of me face.
It’s only a newspaper in any case.”
“It’s not a newspaper. A newspaper has news.
Not made up stories with which to abuse.
What they said was “The Truth” were all scurrilous lies.
We got no apology. What a surprise!”
“All right then Evo what should I buy?”
Tell me one, give me the reason why.
Which one do you think stands out from the rest?
The Mirror, The Echo, which one’s the best?”
“Don’t buy the Sun. It’s fit only to burn.
Don’t buy the Sun. There’s nothing you’ll learn.
I’ll say it once more and then I’ll be done.
Buy what you want but DON’T BUY THE SUN.”
Peter ‘Evo’ Etherington
“THE TRUTH” WAS ALL LIES
“THEY ROBBED THEIR OWN DEAD. WHAT A TERRIBLE SIGHT!”
“THE TRUTH!” SAID THE SUN, SO IT MUST BE RIGHT.
“DRUNKEN SCOUSE YOBS FORCED OPEN A GATE!”
SCREAMED THE BILE FROM THE SCUMRAG WE ALL HATE.
“SCUM PEED ON BOBBIES TRYING TO SAVE THEIR MATES LIVES!”
HOW MUCH MORE WILL THEY TWIST THEIR KNIVES?
NO SCOUSER ON EARTH SHOULD EVER BE SEEN
WITH THAT PIECE OF DIRT, THAT RAG SO OBSCENE.
NINETY-SIX LIVES, NINETY-SIX GONE.
YET THE PEOPLE TO BLAME STILL CARRY ON.
EVERTON, LEEDS, SPURS AND UNITED
EVERY CLUB’S FANS WANT TO SEE THE WRONGS RIGHTED.
“IT COULD HAVE BEEN US,” EVERYONE SAID
“WHO’S FANS WERE LEFT CRUSHED, INJURED AND DEAD.”
WE ONLY WANT JUSTICE, WE DON’T WANT REVENGE.
WE ONLY SEEK ANSWERS, NOT TO AVENGE.
ADMIT YOU WERE WRONG (IT’S NOT TOO LATE)
IN GIVING THE ORDER TO OPEN THE GATE.
NINETY-SIX DEAD, “NO-ONE TO BLAME”
SAID A JUDGE UP IN LEEDS: BRITISH Justice IN SHAME.
“THE TRUTH” WAS ALL LIES AND DISGRACED OUR GOOD NAME.
NINETY-SIX DEAD. NO-ONE TO BLAME.
NO POLICEMEN CONVICTED, THAT’S ALL THAT MATTERED.
NINETY-SIX FAMILIES LEFT BROKEN AND SHATTERED.
NINETY-SIX LIVES LOST WATCHING A GAME.
NINETY-SIX DEAD. NO-ONE TO BLAME.
Peter ‘Evo’ Etherington
The SUN
I believe the Blacks are bad
The Left is loony
God is Mad
The government’s the best we’ve had
So I read The SUN.
I believe Britain is great
And other countries imitate
I am friendly with The State,
Daily, I read The Sun
I am not too keen on foreign ones
But I don’t mind some foreign bombs
Jungle bunnies and play tom-toms,
But, I read The SUN
Man, I don’t like those Russian spies
But we don’t have none
I love lies,
I really do love Princess Di
I bet she reads The Sun
Black people rob
Women should cook
And every poet is a crook
I am told -so I don’t need to look
It’s easy in The SUN
Every hippie carries nits
And every Englishman loves tits
I love page three and other bits,
I stare into The SUN
I like playing bingo games
And witch-hunting to shame a name
But why aren’t newspapers all the same?
So why not read The SUN.
Don’t give me the truth, just give me gossip
And skeletons from people’s closets
I wanna be normal
And millions buy it,
I am blinded by The SUN
Chris
The Fight
The fight for Justice must never die,
We owe it to the mother who will always cry,
What’s wrong with reading the Sun?
After all it’s only a bit of fun.
Try telling that to the dad,
who sees you, a red, reading that paper.
You wonder why he gets mad.
It’s because that s#%t you just read,
branded him a yob who robbed the dead.
Think of the lad who had to watch his friend die,
the lad who has never learnt to cry,
You’re reading the paper that said he killed his own,
no wonder he feels alone.
Others were to blame on that fateful day,
but they just hide it away.
Families still don’t why their son had to die.
The fight for justice,
Now ask yourself, why?
Unknown
The Sun
I hate The Sun, the no-mark pricks
And what’s this about Brucie’ and his goalkeeping fix?
It’s the same old Sun, up to their normal tricks
I hate The Sun, remember the ninety-six?
Hypocrites.
NINETY-SIX died, show some respect
And who could forget all those horrible lies you kept?
You’re a no-mark paper that’s proven upon the Page 3 set
But still millions buy it, where’s all your sense?
It can’t be the quality, it’s only ten pence.
We all now know, what happened back then
NINETY-SIX people, crushed in a pen
So why all the lies, where’s all your proof?
You don’t kid us lot, for we know the truth
I can’t believe these things you said. Why?
NINETY-SIX souls, we all shall miss
And who are we, to claim Justice?
From a national rag, who is best noted for tits
You are humans, as they were
So why show no f##king care?
I cannot understand, our national pride
Imagine it had happened elsewhere, not just a bit on the side
April 15th 1989, NINETY SIX people died
The whole nation was sad, in unity we cried
Eleven years late, it was washed aside.
It was a tragedy, a horrific death – they were all innocent
So why be so horrible, I trust you had consent?
Still eleven years on, you are still called “The Scum”
But as long as the knobhead editor is still having his fun
You told us lies, you told everyone. But why?
JUSTICE FOR THE 96
Unknown
The Perfect Newspaper.
I don’t want to see a villian, I just want a hero,
I’d like to see unemployment has been cut down to zero.
I’d like to see justice in so many ways,
And a quality joke at the start of my day.
I’d like every page to contain something funny,
And plenty of chances to win lots of money,
A competition to win a Cup Final ticket,
And a miracle, like ‘England have taken a wicket.’
I’d like to see the title back where it belongs,
I’d like to see the charts full of half decent songs.
I’d like to read that troops have returned from Baghdad,
I’d like it if if this were the last war we had.
I’d like to see Jeffers admit that he dived,
I’d like to see children no longer deprived.
I’d like to read more good news than bad,
I’d like to have hope, instead of just feeling sad.
But the one thing I’d like to see more than the rest,
The apology we need, from that rag we detest.
It’s never too late for the wrongs to be undone,
But until they are, please don’t buy the S*n.
Mark Ballard
Justice
Our Kop is where we stand on match Day
Fixated by the voice of fraternic cheer,
As our heroes dance ‘pon Anfield’s holy turf
you find on my face a solemn tear
a casualty of emotion am I?
I see it not the same and say
I’ve never been afraid to feel
For those who lost their lives that day.
I sigh and say a silent prayer
A solemn moment I can afford
But not those who died that day,
Their pain still lies ignored.
Why did this happen? How could this happen?
Why did they have to die?
But the biggest injustice that I still feel?
Why did they have to lie!
The Sun, the shame, the lies, the hurt
A tear now not alone,
You will never procure, we will never forget!
96 of our own.
Don’t you ever try and belittle my city,
We don’t need your opinions, your jokes, or pity
I berate those who do even dare
I don’t have to stand for such hot air.
Our hearts and minds are driven!
We will see justice given!
Heaven and earth will move in time
We will avenge their haenus crime
I stand alone on that Kop in dream.
And stare at the pitch as mute.
Upon our terraces, extend’s this team,
There is no end to our pursuit!
Sorry are you? Those words so forbidden
I know you lie awake guilt ridden
That sickening story,
Your pride in glory,
The Sun I berate,
who told it so straight
On every paper every man reads,
You’ll find the stories of evil deeds,
Those stories so sickening, I shake in revolt
for 96 families that you do assault
where is your shame? where is your pity?
You sell your papers on the sad and the gritty
Well I don’t give a #### what you say, we shall make a stand
Justice for those people is what we demand!
And when your final hours come, and your life starts to wilt
Only then will you feel that hour of guilt,
You know you were wrong, you know the pain,
Of the families that suffered, but suffered in vain
You only need to say the word, means nothing to you
But please think of what it means to them too
Justice we declare is on your head
Just say the word, Repreive the dead,
Such a just and simple act it would be
To the families? Justice of the highest degree
Heal those Scars!
For Those 96, those 96 of ours!
Thomas Georgeson
Next To Me
Next To me is the S*n
As I sit on the train
Next to me it sits
But from looking I refrain.
There is none so blind, as who will not see.
Well I must be blind, cause it’s next to me.
Next to me lies that rag
and lies is the word
For what they said in 89
Was at best absurd.
There is none so blind as who will not see.
Well, I must be blind, cause it’s next to me.
Next to me sits a man
And he picks up the S*n
Starts reading within seconds
Unaware of what they’ve done.
There is none so blind as who will not see.
Well, I must be blind, cause it’s next to me.
I turn and I tell him
And he looks with surprise
His mouth opens to speak
“And these people had just died?”
There is none so blind as who will not see.
Well, I must be blind, cause it’s next to me.
That man goes on his way
Says he wouldn’t touch it free
And thanks me for what I’ve done
For making him blind like me.
There is none so blind as who will not see.
Well, I must be blind, cause it’s next to me.
The S*n have never apologised for the lies they spun.
And I wonder who is really blinded by the S*n.
Mark Ballard
The Truth
“Them scousers are theives, and robbers and such
I can’t say I care for them very much.
Sure, they’re quite funny in the things that they say,
But they’ll probably pick your pocket that very same day.”
“They’re dirty, they’re poor, they’re always in fights,
I saw it on Harry Enfield just the other night.
I believe what I see, I believe what I read,
They’re telling ‘the truth’, what else do I need?”
“It’s a stereotype, yes. But it’s hardly treason,
It wouldn’t be there if there weren’t any reason.
Why would someone say it if it weren’t really true?
And why should I listen to someone like you?”
“I know that it’s true, that place is a dive,
I know it, though I’ve never gone past the M25.
I know it, and what’s more everyone knows,
And why do we all know it? Because the S*n told us so.”
Well I am from London, I get this all the time,
And a lot can be traced back to eighty nine.
It came from a paper, who could ever dispute?
This deep web of lies, The S*n at the root.
I’ll tell you the real truth, for those willing to listen,
The truth about these people you are mindlessly dissing.
Most are generous and friendly, the salt of the earth,
And the S*n is just paper, without any worth.
Mark Ballard
The S*n
30 pence is all it costs,
Daily news – lots of goss.
“What a bagain,” Some may say,
“I buy a copy every day.”
“Page 3 girl – what a stunner,
The horoscopes are just for fun.
The sports section is the best,
Man United, Who cares about the rest?”
But here’s a poem, to make you think,
To educate you on the shit they print.
For all of those who didnt know,
Of the injustice suffered, years ago.
15th of April, 1989,
96 dead. Do you know why?
Ticketless people? Drunken fans?
How can 12 year olds be hooligans?!
Innocent men, women and kids,
Died unnecessarily, due to incompetance.
Did The S*n care? I think not.
“The Truth” was the headline the public got.
“Drunken fans pissing on officers,”
Strage how no arrests were made…..
“Fans pick-pocketed the dead,”
That is the shite the people read.
Society led to beleive that was “The Truth”,
Years later – the myths still unproved.
An appology would have eased the pain,
Just to clear their loved ones name.
But still we wait – 16 years on.
Still we fight – for our fellow fans – gone.
Justice is why we battle on,
One day, my friends, Justice will come.
Unknown
That’s Why
They’re just names in an old red-top paper.
Move along now, there’s nothing to see
We held our enquiry, and covered it up
So that guilty policemen walk free.
The enquiry said it was all over
At precisely a quarter past three
Explanations would only be awkward
Things like ambulances stopped in the street
True Lord Taylor said police had just frozen
When required to be fearless and bold
But none of them took any blame
Just allowed to retire and grow old.
As they busily destroyed taped evidence
As young people died in the sun
With no help from the medics kept outside
A long fight for Justice began.
Police PR helped by dear Maggie Thatcher
Absolved those snide cops from all blame
Drip-fed hatred and lies to the Red-tops
And the red-tops joined in – to their shame.
“The Truth” was all over the papers
But the words underneath were just lies
Ingram, MacKenzie and Middup
Made it up and the press went along.
We “broke down the gate” – that the police had unlocked.
Kids “drunken” on just one shandy Bass
We pissed on our crushed badly injured
Picked the pockets of those who had died.
Police pensioned off to retirement
Maggie made poodle Ingram a Sir
And Mackenzie insists the S*n was right
And the rest of you no longer care.
There’s a kid of 19 all excited.
Took my ticket and went to a match
And 95 others just like him
That deserve better treatment than that.
No, I can’t take my ticket back off him
No apology will bring him back
But the bile that the S*n wrote about him
Half the world thinks is true – and that’s FACT
So I’ll fight pig-thick ignorant bigots
Who think all Scousers illiterate thieves
And I’ll keep on until I am heard
And results in “The Truth” they deserve
They’re just names in a faded old paper.
Move along now, there’s nothing to see
It was all such a shame – and there’s no-one to blame.
So lets just move along now sir please
Unknown
Sticky the S*N
Why are you still reading that paper, you must know it’s the one we all hate?
It’s not like you’re even a young man, the sort we may need to educate.
Some fans hate that paper so much, they won’t even utter its name.
And in print they won’t even spell it, ‘spell check’ must think it’s a game.
And when I see that rag in the shops, I hide it out of everybody’s sight.
Then most copies that arrive in the morning are still there last thing at night.
Or get out your Justice stickers and secretly peel lots of them from the roll.
And plaster them all over the front page, of the paper without a heart or a soul.
So next time you think about buying that newspaper, just stop and ask yourself why.
Why you should support the paper that caused our city so much pain with that lie.
Alloy
The Truth must be Told
To the 96 people that passed away,
They didn’t come home to their family that day.
The truth is all known but not yet been told,
So we are still fighting for JUSTICE of old.
The paper leaked lies to the world of Football,
So we fight for our friends and family’s of all.
The Heart of this city could never be bought,
It’s something we’re born with and which we are taught.
We’ve won all the trophies conquered all land,
But all we want now is for him to hold up his hand.
And say to the families “your right it was me”,
The papers then publish what we want to see.
It’s up to our Government to lay down the law,
Because we don’t want none of this anymore.
22 years on and still nothing said,
But one things for sure I’m proud to be a RED
John Jones
