The Rioters' 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 & 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 plasma tele the Burberry & the Barcardi, forever and ever Innit