For Hug’s Sake

Spaffer liked hugging Allegra
Spaffer liked hugging Marina too
Spaffer liked hugging Anna Fazackerley
And now hugging’s in the news
(For hug’s sake)

Spaffer liked hugging with Helen
But Spaffer still liked hugging Marina too
Spaffer won’t hug you if you ask about Stephanie
And now hugging’s in the news

Spaffer’s hugging here and Spaffer’s hugging there
He hugged up Foreign Secretary, hugged up being mayor
He’s hugging up the red wall, hugging lying down
No one’s safe from being hugged by Bozo the Clown

Spaffer liked hugging with Jennifer
Hugging on the sofa like there’s nothing to lose
Spaffer likes a hug more than anything else
And now hugging’s in the news
(For hug’s sake)

Spaffer likes hugging with Carrie
He’s hugged her enough to want to marry her too
Spaffer is the hugger that the voters love
And now hugging’s in the news

Spaffer’s hugging here and Spaffer’s hugging there
He hugged up Foreign Secretary, hugged up being mayor
He’s hugging up the red wall, hugging lying down
No one’s safe from being hugged by Bozo the Clown

Let the Bodies Pile High

James Dyson’s tax bill, Cameron and Greensill
Let the bodies pile high
Let the bodies pile high

Hancock’s sister’s company, Jennifer Arcuri
Let the bodies pile high
Let the bodies pile high

Sixty grand wallpaper, the Barnard Castle caper
Let the bodies pile high
Let the bodies pile high

Wincanton’s LFTs, being accused of sleaze
Let the bodies pile high
Let the bodies pile high

Let the bodies pile high, in their thousands
Let the bodies pile high, in their thousands
Let the bodies pile high, Spaffer’s battle cry
Let the bodies pile high, in their thousands

Big contract awards, in the Commons and the Lords
Let the bodies pile high
Let the bodies pile high

Ayanda Capital, nothing wrong with that at all
Let the bodies pile high
Let the bodies pile high

Randox and Serco, racing’s where the money goes
Let the bodies pile high
Let the bodies pile high

Nothing here to see, no public inquiry
Let the bodies pile high
Let the bodies pile high

Let the bodies pile high, in their thousands
Let the bodies pile high, in their thousands
Let the bodies pile high, Spaffer’s battle cry
Let the bodies pile high, in their thousands

Spaffed

Let’s paint it blue,
Draped with union jacks
But Spaffer’s West Wing
Just got the axe
He said “They wanna hear me”
But doubt got in his head
And now Allegra needs
Another job instead

Her’s got spaffed

Spaffed! There goes your taxpayer pound
Spaffed! By Bozo the Clown
He Spaffed on the bus, he spaffed in space
He Spaffed on Dido’s track and Dido’s trace

Let’s build a bridge
Bedecked with flowers
Take what’s theirs
And make it ours
We’ll host bridge parties,
Corporate jollies
Another of Johnson’s
Corporate follies

It got spaffed

Spaffed! There goes your taxpayer pound
Spaffed! By Bozo the Clown
He Spaffed on the bus, he spaffed in space
He Spaffed on Dido’s track and Dido’s trace

Let’s build an island
In the middle of the Thames
For planes to take off
And to land again
Like many of his ideas
This one was crap
Four million quid later,
Boris Island got scrapped

It got Spaffed

Spaffed! There goes your taxpayer pound
Spaffed! By Bozo the Clown
Spaffed on the bus, spaffed in space
Spaffed on Dido’s track and Dido’s trace

Let’s paint it blue,
Draped in Union Jacks
Let’s paint it blue,
Draped in Union Jacks
Let’s paint it blue, draped in Union Jacks
And bury the news that it’s been spaffed
Spaffed

Clap a Tory, Pay a Nurse

Week after week
They clapped their hands
And banged their pans
From rainbow bedecked windows
And cars and vans.
Hundreds of thousands
Acting with care, thought, and precision
Led to this decision.
“The NHS saved my life” Spaffer said
But what he meant
Was all they’re worth to him is one percent.

And Hancock,
Responsible personally
To the horse racing fraternity,
Pays tribute with words,
His deep pockets reserved
For contracts for corporate chums.
“Get out there and tell them you saved lives” he said
But what he meant
Was all they’re worth to him is one percent.

Nadine “I’m a former nurse, me” Dorries,
The first Covid MP,
Seeks to defend the economy.
Never surprised
By an MP’s pay rise,
But with Rishi is in accord
That this is all they can afford
While recognising sacrifice, commitment and vocation
Tells the nation
What she meant
Was all they’re worth to her is one percent.

When they tell you “level up”
What do they mean?
The numbers dead hid behind
A vaccination screen.
No money for heroic nurses’ pay
When Dido’s folly costs a million pounds a day.
There is a simple message delivered in this verse:
Next time, clap a Tory, pay a nurse.

The Golden-Haired Boy

It’s that awkward bit between Christmas and New Year when you’d struggle to find things to fill newspapers with anyway, never mind the pandemic, so one of the leading lights of the Tory press, riffing on the idea of Spaffer’s miracles following his rising from the near dead at Easter, publishes a story about his latest offspring’s wonderous artistic ability. Well, it is Christmas, and a story so preposterous that they couldn’t get a journalist to put their name to it.

It’s the Xmas perineum between the 25th and the 31st
You’ve eaten, drunk and been merry ‘til your fit to burst
There’s no football, no music, no pubs in Tier 4
Not much to do if you step out of your door

Is there anything to look forward to that ain’t austere?

Well, the golden-haired boy, just eight months old
The golden-haired boy, just eight months old
The golden-haired boy, just eight months old
Crafted a hand-painted image
Of a reindeer
Of a reindeer

There’s Driver Tizer lining the hedgerows of the Garden of England
British Variant COVID making its presence felt, and
Miles and miles of queues to get into Dover
Thousands of truckers wishing Christmas was over

Is there any news to help Tories be of good cheer?

Well, there’s a golden-haired boy, just eight months old
There’s a golden-haired boy, just eight months old
There’s a golden-haired boy, just eight months old
Who crafted a hand-painted image
Of a reindeer
Of a reindeer

‘Cos Spaffer might’ve nearly died for your sins
But it’s his miracle child that’s now the thing
With The Telegraph fawning over his painting
He’s clearly the one born to be king

This golden-haired boy, just eight months old
This golden-haired boy, just eight months old
(What number is he again?)
This golden-haired boy, just eight months old
Crafted a hand-painted miracle image
Hand-painted, miracle image
Of a reindeer
Of a reindeer

Blue Passport Fishing

Gunships, fish and chips
Protecting no-deal Brexits
But the fish don’t care
If you think they’re Brits
The fish don’t care
To be served with chips
See that little bastard swimming in the sea
That little bastard belongs to me
(He’s got a blue passport)
See that little bastard swimming in the sea
That little bastard belongs to me
(He’s got a blue passport)

Gunboats, keeping Spaffer afloat
Strong man nationalist
Someone get him
A Stone Island coat
It’s quote very very likely
Unquote
See that little bastard swimming in the sea
That little bastard belongs to me
(He’s got a blue passport)
See that little bastard swimming in the sea
That little bastard belongs to me
(He’s got a blue passport)

And the plucky little fisherman ain’t all he seems
There’s corporate interest behind the scenes
(And a blue passport)

Gunships, fish and chips
Protecting no-deal Brexits
But the fish don’t care
If you think they’re Brits
The fish don’t care
To be served with chips
See that little bastard swimming in the sea
That little bastard belongs to me
(He’s got a blue passport)
See that little bastard swimming in the sea
That little bastard belongs to me
(He’s got a blue passport)

And the plucky little fisherman ain’t all he seems
There’s corporate interest behind the scenes
Ask about the quotas, you’ll see what I mean
(And a blue passport)

This Ship is Lost at Sea

This ship is lost at sea
And Spaffer’s wearing the captain’s hat
He needed help with the charts
But he was never interested in all of that

He simply expected to point
And somehow the ship would just go that way
He always figured the details
Could wait for another day

Now this ship is lost at sea
And the crew are hungry and tired
Because it turned out to be the hat, not the ship
That Spaffer truly desired

Don’t Cough Over Your Cat

No ads for Maccy D’s before bedtime
No BOGOF on Pringles or Mars Bars or any of that
But that’s not even this evening’s headline
Whatever you do, don’t cough over your cat

Spaffer’s a stone down and fat shaming the nation
Clamping down on promotion of food high in sugar and fat
Obligatory labels for cafes in new legislation
And whatever you do, don’t cough over your cat

He says we owe it to the NHS to keep our weight healthy
I suspect he owes them a bit more than that
Start with 350 million a week, maybe
And please don’t cough over your cat

There are complex ethnic and socioeconomic factors
At play here, but despite all of that
The fight against the virus starts a new chapter
With advice to not cough over your cat