102 Supporters (Yeah, Right)

Like Brent turning up at the office
With a guitar they don’t want to hear
All together now, let’s restart the disco
Has fallen on deaf Tory ears
He came back from holiday to die for their sins
But the MP’s would rather he stayed in the bin
Let’s restart the disco, all together now
Cincinnatus, best you fuck off back to your plough

I Do Not Want a King at All

I do not want a king at all
A coronation big or small
A diddy one or six feet tall
I do not want a king at all

I do not want one in a crown
Or in an ermine-trimmed posh gown
Right way up or upside down
As a verb or as a noun
Called Charles or Harold, even Saul
I do not want a king at all

I do not want a king at all
With neat handwriting or a scrawl
I want to click on uninstall
I do not want a king at all

I do not want a king for me
For breakfast, dinner, lunch and tea
Owning all the eye can see
By some historical decree
I do not want a jubilee
Or forced smile RP repartee
“How long have you been a tree?”
On broken glass I’d rather crawl
I do not want a king at all

I do not want one with fat fingers
Or with a royal stench than lingers
From royal floaters or royal sinkers
I do not want a king that tinkers
In London or in Montreal
I do not want a king at all

I do not want one with big ears
I do not need “Oh dear, oh dears”
Or a face that now appears
On stamps and coins and souvenirs
Who hunts foxes and shoots deers
Assents to laws and interferes
Has his toothpaste squeezed by Paul
I do not want a king at all

I do not want a king at all
Don’t want his picture on the wall
Or naming a new hospital
One of forty, after all
He can’t be big unless we’re small
I do not want a king at all

If Squid Squad Did Train Strikes

Emily Arr rearranges trains. Ross Conti relies
on reductions and Mandy Waistcoat’s
abandoned her calendar.

Great Aunt Angela torches timetables. Gray
Norman won’t run in the morning. Tim Slink
thinks updates can wait.

Southey Stern returns a recipe for necessity.
People with tickets take biscuits to pickets.
Liz Truss isn’t fussed.

(With apologies to Matthew Welton)

Growing Pies

Growing pies, is it on trees
Or on stakes like beans and peas
Or hedgerows, just like blackberries
For us to pick whene’er we please

Or do the pies only thrive
In the shade of money trees
I wonder, will the pies survive
The discontent of winter freeze

Maybe we just dig them up
When they have grown sufficient size
And roughly slice and serve them up
With mashed potatoes or with fries

Green-fingered Britain, do not fret
There is no need to agonise
To Liz’s garden we’re in debt
We just need to grow some pies

Suella & Rachel

Suella dreams of deportation
Traffic to another nation
Cruelty to refugees
Her obsession, how did we
Ever end up here?

Rachel waiting in the wings
Hums the tune Suella sings
Cruelty to refugees
Shadow policy with speed
Don’t ever end up here

Truss’s Conference

She hit the ground
Forgot to run
Squeezed families
And banged the dumb

The lady’s not for
Oh, she did
On crazy Kwasi’s
Top rate quid

(Not his fault either
That’s Chris Philp
It’s to the Chief Sec
That they tilt)

Now benefits
And mortgages
Got one of those
Ain’t you Liz?

The lady’s not for
Oh, she’s done
She hit the ground
Forgot to run

Liz’s Pie

Liz’s pie is sliced unevenly
Liz is slicing fast and greedily
The biggest slices unbelievably
To the richest irretrievably

Liz’s pie is sliced unevenly
Liz is slicing hard and grievously
The slimmest slices butchered evilly
To those who need them most appreciably

Liz’s pie is sliced unevenly
Equality is not for her you see
Liz trusts in trickle-down unreasonably
So Liz’s pie is sliced unevenly

Think Tank

Think tank
Think tank
Take it to the brink tank
Take a picture in a tank
And send it to the press

Think tank
Think tank
Nod and a wink tank
Shorting city pound tank
The bank is not impressed

Think tank
Think tank
Let the country sink tank
They’re calling it a Kwar-tank
He’s calling it success

Think tank
Think tank
Theories that stink tank
She’ll be gone in a blink tank
What a bloody mess

Collective Nouns

A murder of crows
A compendium of stories
A parliament of owls
An incompetence of Tories

A reverence of vicars
A selection of alternatives
A righteousness of clergymen
A corruption of Conservatives

An ambush of tigers
An embarrassment of superlatives
A pride of lions
A disgrace of Conservatives

A cartload of chimpanzees
A happiness of glories
A band of gorillas
A circus of Tories

Derek Joins the Queue

Derek’s in the queue
With a bag of whisky miniatures
He’ll need something warm
To get him through the night
He didn’t think his hip flask
Would make it through security
So long as he’s not too pissed
He should be alright

Derek’s in the queue
With a plastic union jack
But flags are not allowed
So he’ll drop it in the street
A patriotic queue
Should have flags, Derek reckons
A patriotic queue
Should stay on its feet

Derek’s in the queue
And there’s too many tourists
They’re the only reason
There’s a sixteen hour wait
It’s an Englishman’s duty
Not a visitor attraction
To be paying your respects
At a lying in state

Derek’s in the queue
And they’ve given him a wristband
I’m not a bloody number
He muttered to the scout
But it’ll come in handy later
When his bladder starts to fail him
They’ve laid on extra toilets
For his big day out

Derek’s in the queue
He’s being part of history
It’s a big occasion
But he doesn’t understand
Why the folk all around him
Are making new queue buddies
Talking to other people
Wasn’t something that he’d planned

Derek’s in the queue
She’s been the Queen all his life
But he’s not a fan of Big Ears
Or Big Ears’s wife
Or Sweaty Andy for that matter
Or failed soldier Eddie
But he reckons that Harry
Might be alright

Derek’s in the queue
And he’s getting cold and tired
But no one likes to say
They might’ve made a big mistake
In the morning he’ll be done
And on a train back to Clacton
With a story for his grandkids
And his good-for-nothing mates