Why the Revolution Failed - or the dubstep goat challenge

My tale is one not widely known
of Citizen Smith* in battledress
performing for the overthrow
of known society -- Oh yes!

Installed upon the glass roof of
the public lavatories for men
(strategically placed, please note
on Tooting Broadway's thoroughfare)
with traffic surging all around,
and clad in khaki battledress,
loudly there he did proclaim
the day of revolution come! Oh, yes!

Alas, he'd gone a step too far -- Oh,
no, my friends, not the glass roof...!
but requisitioning that new phenomenon, 
the dubstep goat, promoting it to
brigadier and making it the mascot of 
his rag-tag, hip hop, bob-tail gang.

The poets -- 2-step garage; UKG; 
and jungle, loaded up with bass --
and artists of all kinds, performance
and the rest from Tooting's Steppe 
lands -- Broadway to the likes of us --
as as far as Figges Marsh** and beyond,
gathered in a protest march calling to
the dubstep goat by name and using certain 
words they knew he'd understand, asking him 
to dance. And dance he did (for long 
ago the goat had joined the hip hops
and aligned himself with them) beginning
with Rose Madder's Studio for dance --
where it was found that having four 
good legs he could pull off a solo
pas de deux. The fashion spread
and he was in such great demand, he
added to his repertoire: duos for jig, 
for jog, a new drummed dubstep, hip hop, 
hot spot, pot belly roast and more... Oh yes!!

Boast as he might -- and boast he did --
our mighty Citizen, the revolutionary Smith,
was quite unable to control his so-called
mascot. Every roll of military drum just
made him dance more off the mark. He had
become a filament, free of the bulb
that once had hemmed him in. He burned, 
he sizzled, flared, contorted, turned;
he flipped and flopped. he leaped and dropped,
crouched on the floor, flew through the air
and all who saw him thought him taught
by D.J. Hatcha or Fred Astaire.***

Without the dubstep goat, Smith knew
the Revolution doomed. Nor could he use
a goat with such poor discipline. He called
his council to their final meet -- his H.Q.
located in the box room of his mother's neat
and tidy semi- with views across the Lido.
and there he deemed the enterprise defunct.
...........................................
* here
** here
*** D J Hatcha here

Written for The dubstep goat challenge at Imaginary Garden with Real Toads.