Oh, how I long to be just like Always Right Dominic,
To fly in the face of rules, regulations and simple logic,
To ignore draconian strictures, to freely Range Roverly roam, Really drive that massive sense of entitlement 420 miles home.
No ‘Hi Boris, bye, its bestie Dom, I’m blowing this town,
I’m driving up to the pater’s farm till my fever’s died down,’ No, Dom just upped and left his locked-down London precinct
Driving 420 miles fuelled on pure arrogance and ‘parental instinct.’
No Number Ten man can control Mister Cumming-or-going
for the man who advises the PM is so all wise and all knowing,
And the PM understands the ordeal poor Dom’s been through;
For the elite true blue few it’s always ‘Do as we say, not as we do.’
‘Born to Bo and Carrie, a thick-thatched boy child,’
Styled much in the manner of his Poppa, carefree and wild,
Boris’s sixth, joining three daughters and two brothers
Selectively spread over three decades and three mothers.
After his brush with mortality can Bo be a changed man?
Rigidly stick to Carrie’s ‘Keep Johnson In-His-Pants Family Plan?
Carrie, just trust Bo to not carry on, Carrie, try to keep calm,
Bo’s put two partners behind him, so… third mom’s the charm?
Boris is in our prayers and in our thoughts,
I do so hope Boris recovers from his nasty scare,
He’s feverishly chatting away, according to reports,
Swearing he’ll somehow survive National Health care.
Boris doesn’t like being in bed when he’s out of sorts,
Whether he’s feeling up or better is not the public’s affair,
Boy, Bojo has been a bit of a wag when it comes to bed sports
But now is the time to change his wayward ways- and underwear.
It’s developed into a sobering, if slightly sick story
For Boris, our weird wonderful and wiggy top Tory,
He, who’d dismissed this virus with a toss of his hair,
Waving away silly concerns and germs with a jocular air.
But now Boris cannot shake off this snotty cold,
Today Boris must simply shut up and do as he’s told,
‘Must it be that Hospital?’ he whines to his physician-
For Boris it’s going to be an awkward public admission.
His treatment causes him humiliation and distress,
A bad patient’s view of the inner workings of the NHS,
It’s most disconcerting to discover some common blight
Afflicts even those so blindingly bleedingly obviously Right.
It’s a dark day behind the black door at 10 Downing street,
Boris’s short tenure here isn’t going quite as he’d planned-
From victory over Brexit and savouring Labours defeat
To solitary confinement in the best address in the land.
He can’t simply shamble outdoors, he can’t meet or greet,
Stuck in bed, sat at home at the doctors express command,
His tousled look looks too real, with his pale face white as a sheet?
Nah, not even his (gl)amorous girlfriend wants to take his… hand.
Since Boris Johnson has taken command
Of England’s grim and unpleasantly divided land
Do you wonder where Parliamentary democracy went?
That question gets short shrift from Boris The Omnipotent.
Want some time for Parliamentary debate?
Boris smilingly says ‘sorry, but time’s up, too late,’
Now that Boris’s big butt’s behind the steering wheel
It’s foot down to throttle any rumblings about his no deal.
BoJo is hellbent on doing what Teresa couldn’t achieve,
Boris’s going to fu- fly off, and without a buy-your-leave,
Driving blindly forward to where there’s no coming back,
Bozo’s exiting,hard, Right, into a cold unfriendly cul-de-sac.