Martin Parker We the three chief Brexiteers are Charged by May to follow a star, Little knowing where we’re going, Or when or quite how or how far.
Oh, oh! great our cause and its reward. Britain’s national pride restored. Remoaners’ goolies served as coulis, And each of us soon made a Lord.
Negotiations? Simply a breeze! EU nabobs beg on their knees. Then, each evening, Bolly at Chevening — If Boris still has the keys.
Oh, oh! twenty-nineteen is the date When, we can confidently state, Our gift to Her WILL make her purr — Herr Juncker’s head upon a plate!
Basil Ransome-Davies While Klansmen cleaned their guns by night, All full of booze and dope, A hero with mad hair appeared And promised them new hope.
An orange future was his vow, A losers’ dream come true, Where every day was Christmas Day And years were always new.
They shared his vision of a wall, His pussy-grabbing zeal. A man like them, a manly man, How proud he made them feel.
His Christmas message spread the fear, The loathing and the scorn.
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