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.
As Tess’s tenure at Number 1O comes to a close
It’s ta-ta to our failed frazzled fading English rose,
Slowly down Downing Streets steps she grudgingly goes,
Then up steps blow-hard Boris, striking his grinning pose.
After passing ‘neath Boris’s victorious sneer
Tess turns, takes a look back shedding ‘nary a tear,
Theresa suppresses the smile that strives to appear;
One grateful Briton, glad to be gettin’ the hell outta here.
Outside the door where she’d once stood, stammering,
Boris is the boy for whom all the Brexiteers are clamouring;
Tess knows after six months of political Sturm Und Drangering
Boris will be beside himself, behind the door, getting a hammering.
Poor Theresa May is finding this leaving lark tough,
Trump is coming a’calling just when Boris calls her bluff,
Boris’ untimely and boorish approach she should rebuff-
She ain’t no bloody Boadicea, but she’s made of stern stuff-
But she is oh so tempted to hand it to that tousle-haired scruff.
Let Bo take the tiny hand that slithers from the silken cuff,
A pedicured pampered hand, yet a touch… course and rough,
Let them bond over common interests; trade, markets, dandruff?
But Tess does know one red white and blue bastard is quite enough,
So she’ll smile, lie and try to think of England and not stalk off in a huff.
David Camerons strange exit strategy…
A smile, a so-long AND a song.
Leaving On A Sour Note.
David stands outside Number Tens dark door,
Strange how it doesn’t feel like home any more,
But since the vote didn’t go his way he won’t stay,
He won’t be overstaying his welcome, come what May.
His farewell speech all said and done
He savours one last moment in the sun,
Yet in his breast he finds he feels not grief
But a burgeoning sense of welcome relief.
He didn’t know he was already ready to depart,
He walks away, a spring in his step, a song in his heart,
Unburdened at last, it’s a jaunty tune that he’s humming;
But really David, ‘Anarchy In The UK’ is most unbecoming.