Resignation Honours

What the fuck are resignation honours
Can they be bought with foreign dollars
Or are they just for a certain type of cad
Like the ex-PM’s wife-beating dad
With form for familial awards
Having put his brother in the House of Lords

If we’re to let him have his way
Then their post-nominals all should say
Displayed proudly by their name

Arise, Sir Stanley, Lord of Wrong ‘Un
Knighted by that wanker, Boris Johnson

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

Untitled (20 October 2022)

If you think Theresa was the sensible one
Just remember the hostile environment, son
And if you think Boris ain’t as bad as this
Then you’ve forgotten the bottomless
Pit of his corruption
The meetings with spies and the lies upon lies
And the party, what party, oh that party, somebody should’ve said it was a party
To be sure, he broke the law
Meanwhile Liz turned up
Fucked up, fucked off
An impressive comic economic Molotov

Now the field’s wide open for more of the same
Hunt rhymes too easily
Shapps ain’t a hundred percent sure of his name
And when Penny was at fire
She’s on record as a liar
So, there’s nothing to recommend here
Except Project Have No Fear
It’s time to smash it up and start again

Spaffer Bids Farewell to Downing Street

He’s thanking the dog and the cat
It’s leaving speech part two or three
The cat ain’t even his
The cat’s still got a key

He’s thanking the dog and the cat
Like the cat could give a fuck
He’s making a list of achievements
He’s making most of it up

He’s thanking the dog and the cat
The cat’s just shrugged it off
It’s his last day in Downing Street
Bye bye, farewell, fuck off

Bye, Bye, Farewell, Fuck Off

Nurses using foodbanks
Security tags on Lurpacks
His legacy ain’t witty repartee
That fella off the TV
Blow me ain’t he funny
It’s poverty
And lies
And blind eyes
And meetings with spies
The drive to privatise
The drive to Barnard Castle too
The first clue
To another rule for you
And racist too
Deportations to Rwanda
Priti Patel and her
Dog whistle, but the agenda’s his
The question master for a boozy lockdown quiz
The lies are his
The sex pests his
The rule makers breaking rules are his
Corrupt is what it is
Government on behalf of bosses, bankers and billionaires
The people about whom he cares
So wish him bye, bye and farewell
And he can fuck off from there as well
And when he walks, let him keep walking
Don’t ever tune in when he’s talking
Don’t read his books or his columns
Because you were never his problem
He’d let you starve for political gain
And we don’t want to see him round here again

Larry Gets the Big Calls Right

Over Peston’s shoulder, Sajid’s taking a walk
Over Peston’s shoulder, Rishi’s stopped talking the talk
Over Peston’s shoulder, Jonathan Gullis is finally gonna do one
Over Peston’s shoulder, it’s all starting to come undone

Over Peston’s shoulder, Larry’s licking his balls
And that’s what we call getting the big calls right
The big calls right

Over Peston’s shoulder, Parish is watching porn
Over Peston’s shoulder, Paterson’s treating the rules with scorn
Over Peston’s shoulder, there’s another sexual assault
While Spaffer’s still pretending that nothing’s his fault

Over Peston’s shoulder, Larry’s licking his balls
And that’s what we call getting the big calls right
The big calls right

Over Peston’s shoulder, Bim has had enough
Over Peston’s shoulder, Chalk is cutting up rough
Over Peston’s shoulder, Virginia Crosbie, Nichola Richards and Saqib Bhatti MP
Said it’s not for me

Over Peston’s shoulder, Larry’s licking his balls
And that’s what we call getting the big calls right
The big calls right

Mare Nostrum, Lebensraum, Got Brexit Done

Mare Nostrum, Lebensraum, Got Brexit Done
Steve Bray’s amplifier nicked on Day One

Mare Nostrum, Lebensraum, Got Brexit Done
Danny Kruger, Prue Leith’s misogynist son
Signposts women’s rights nil, Supreme Court one

Mare Nostrum, Lebensraum, Got Brexit Done
1937 moment reaching for a gun
Uniform lapel pins for everyone
In the Daily Mail, Telegraph, Express and The Sun

Mare Nostrum, Lebensraum, Got Brexit Done
Migrants not refugees is how it’s spun
The Court of Human Rights being prepped to be shunned
As if God was yet another son of Eton
The meek shall inherit their own situation

Mare Nostrum, Lebensraum, Got Brexit Done
Organised labour is enemy number one

Fido (And His Escape From Deportation to Rwanda)

They found him on the beach at Dover
But his ordeal was far from over
Checking for food in the bins
Fido was looking quite thin
So they scooped him up and took him to the pound
Left him in the company of other lost hounds
Saying it was definitely for the best
That Fido’s case should be quickly processed

How did he get here? Was it a legal route?
Where is his collar and lead?
Why is it never bitches or puppies?
Did he just throw his tag in the sea?
Is it just ‘cause the bins are better in Dover?
Did he just want a more benevolent owner?
Did he think we’d just hand him a nice marrow bone
And a bed in a new, warm, comfy home?

Fido barked his answers with canine candour
But the decision had been made, he was off to Rwanda

When the story broke, there was outrage
The Daily Mail devoted the whole front page
This is a nation of animal lovers
And we demand that no dog ever suffers
Transportation to a foreign land
On this the paper will make its stand
The Sun, The Express and even The Times
Said that dog deportations were animal crimes

The Prime Minister was forced to agree
Shed a crocodile tear on breakfast TV
Said on dog trafficking we must draw a line
And the Home Secretary was forced to resign

So woe betide the politician who ever forgets
That we measure our compassion by the way we treat our pets

The King of Lockdown

The King of Lockdown raised a glass
A toast to ghosts of empires past
His gaze steadfast upon the cast
Of gathered acolytes, his class
And scenes they would deny

The grape and grain of government
Authors of instruction meant
For others, never their intent
Without consent of votes once lent
Ever to comply

The King of Lockdown, slovenly
Dismissive of discovery
Of drunken, workless company
Endemic this incumbency
Would simply tell a lie

The King of Lockdown, King of Bluff
Born of the stuff to just rebuff
Never knows when it’s enough
Never goes when it gets tough
Lets truth slide idly by

Local Elections May 2022

Wonderful in Worthing, Wandsworth and Westminster
Horrible in Harrow, Hastings and Hull

No Overall Control hold Hartlepool
Who says that the local elections have been dull

With stay-at-home Tories and Long Corbyn stories
While in Skipton drawing straws is the way that it’s done

And what they’re talking about is

Curry with Sir Keith in a constituency office
Downing Street piss-ups with Prime Minister Boris
Or the latest comic skit from Secretary Dorries

Now they’re changing the bin days in Mayfair
And easing up the planning rules in the town square

Because the hands on the levers might have changed
But the levers themselves have stayed the same