Who’s that sitting in the naughty corner?
Why, it’s ex Vice-captain David Warner;
Pugnacious Davey is now counting the cost
Of cheating to win, but how much has he lost?
Its not the Vice-captaincy loss that makes him bite his lip,
It’s those millions for playing in India, and his sponsorship,
All he did was try to ‘manipulate an advantage’ to win…
For the soul of him David can’t see why that is a sin?
For Davey it’s just not cricket for 365 more days,
Time a’plenty to tote up the cost of his cheatin’ ways;
Someones gone and taken away Davey’s bat and ball
Yet it feels like he’s getting his just deserts after all.
Trust the NRA to dampen the kids carnival atmosphere,
Those noisy kids LaPierre doesn’t want to see nor hear,
Why can’t they hold the Second Amendment dear?
Why can’t they forget their poor start to their year
And, like the NRA take time… for the smoke to clear?
Wayne wishes these protesters would just quietly disappear.
As the kids say, Mr LaPierre- blow it out your rear.
Captain Courageous doesn’t mind the sledge,
It gees up the boys in green, gives ’em an edge,
And, of course, all within the rules of his fair game,
That’s always been smooth silver-tongued Smithy’s claim.
But its not a bit of banter he’s used in Cape Town,
His lapse of judgement- and actions- have let him down,
He was happy to see the ball and rules bent out of shape-
No need to peer to see the evidence, Steve, just roll the tape.
Steve won’t resign, its just a heartfelt ‘sorry, let’s move on;
‘Sorry’ sounds hollow, though, when any heart has long gone,
Fronting the world’s best team, yet he cheats wherever he can,
The reason he was caught out is the only reason he’s a sorry man.
Russia is electing their President, and it’s the same again,
‘All hail President Putin’ is the Kremlins enduring refrain,
Vladimir’s grasp on power is relentlessly ongoing
The ‘popularity’ of the President shows no signs of slowing.
Now Don ill-advisedly phones in his congratulations and delight
Since Putin has dazzlingly won his democratic election… right..?
Yet for Donald the epithet ‘Democrat’ is such a damn dirty word,
He, Vlad and Xi Jinping think leader for life is the term preferred.
Vlad feels he- alone- is fit to serve,
To oppose him takes resolve- and nerve,
Vlad’s electoral victory is unsurpassed
Since his opponents tend to come in dead last.
Donald was all for political leaks
In the elections frantic final weeks, Then a whistle-blower was a patriot, Now Donald is President, they’re not.
Since Donald’s butt is in the hot seat
All he does is bleat and Tweet,
Now Donald’s no whistle-blowers friend,
Demanding all this disloyalty must end.
Andy McCabe spoke out of turn
And is the latest one to learn
That Donald brooks no dissension
If you want to collect your pension.
Yes, it’s best for you to stay mute
About Donald and some massively cute
Woman he came accross on the golf course;
Don doesn’t want to cough up for a divorce.
No, best to keep that story hushed,
Don might emerge red and flushed,
When it comes to a marital moral lapse
Don is keen to keep it all under wraps.
Dons lawyer has done his expensive best
For Stormy to keep it close to her expansive chest;
Could Melania believe its all a storm in a double DD cup?
Don should’ve busted the bank to stop this going ti-… belly up.
It’s the same old story, the secretary shags bags the boss,
Barnaby’s leaving leaves his wife and kids feeling a tad cross,
But after seeing his carryings-on, they’ll accommodate his loss.
Barnaby and Vikki look uncomfortable in the spotlights glare,
Some loyal Nationals still believe it’s all their own private affair;
Yes, fair enough, till Barnaby declares he has something to share…
His weaselly words could have come straight from Big Brother,
He claims the paternity of her love-child is known to the mother!
Don’t Vikki and toss-her-under-the-bus Barnaby deserve each other?
Barnaby is wanting some action, he gets the cold shoulder instead;
Sweet Vikki promised something more than pillow talk would be said;
Are our boy Barnaby’s ears burning on his cold blasted side of the bed?
Oh, Davy Warner, you poor delicate innocent little flower,
Has the onfield jolly jokey blokey jousting begun to sour?
Did De Kocks disagreeable dialogue offend the ear, so tender
Of crickets deep-dredging low down sledging main offender?
It’s understandable for Davy to blow his fuse
When his wonderous team occasionly gracelessly lose,
But even when the bas Baggy Greens win
He can’t help putting his too little sense in.
So what has brought about whining Warnies petulant pout?
He can’t take the fact someone else is dishing it out;
So does he keep his counsel, as a good vice-captain ought?
Crikey, not on your ever-loving effing blinding life, sport.
In her dealings with the everyday madness at Dons funny farm
Ms Hicks has dealt with the in-patients with patience and calm,
She has dealt with infantile rants and rages with some aplomb,
Quietly remaining a trusted rock in the Trumpian maelstrom.
But after an enlightening little nine-hour talk
Hope seems happily resigned to take a walk,
She told them she’d told a few little white lies,
What they told her widened those innocent eyes.
She follows in the footsteps of many who’ve gone before,
Dubke, Spicer, Scaramucci, now Hicks and how many more?
Donald sits in the middle of another great big steaming mess;
Who dares hope to control his eruptions knowing he’s Hope less?