As Boris attempts to dodge scrutiny/
And head off an internal mutiny/
While talking of traitors/
And collaborators/
He seems to be going all Putin-y.///
As Boris attempts to dodge scrutiny/
And head off an internal mutiny/
While talking of traitors/
And collaborators/
He seems to be going all Putin-y.///
Cuadrilla was hit with a block/
For triggering seismical shock/
For though they are crackers,/
These quake-making frackers/
Know just how to make Blackpool rock!///
The pie export body denies/
The claim that Icelanders and Thais/
Are buying our stock/
Which means – what a shock!/
It’s Johnson who’s peddling pork pies.///
That bunch of fine cricketing blokes,/
Burns, Bairstow, Broad, Archer, Roy, Woakes,/
Leach, Buttler and Root,/
Deserve our salute,/
And Denly – but most of all Stokes.///
There was an old fellow named Ja-ir/
Who set the rainforest on fa-ir./
As flames overran it,/
He cried ‘Fuck the planet,/
Let agrobiz have its desa-ir!”.
Trump cancelled a trip to the Danish/
Because of them making it plainish/
That Greenland’s off limits/
And if you are him it’s/
Enraging because he is vainish.///
The government’s great No Deal wheeze,/
As Op Yellowhammer foresees,/
Means shortages, riots/
And limited diets -/
A little bit of bread and no cheese.///
A driver from Malaga, Spain/
Was kidnapped, he tried to explain,/
And forced on the lash,/
To spend all his cash/
On prostitutes, booze and cocaine.///
“Oh give me your tired, your poor,/
The wretched of your teeming shore,/
Your great huddled masses,/
And we’ll kick their asses,/
And show ’em”, Trump’s aide said, “the door”.///
The man behind Johnson’s campaign/
Hates subsidies, this he makes plain,/
Yet Cummings has trousered/
A few hundred thousand/
From Brussels, despite his disdain.///