Elegy

Dear Gordon: thank you and god bless;
We'll miss your economic sense
Which got us in our present mess;
We'll miss your fat arse on the fence.

Thanks for the torture and dawn raids,
And chucking all those kids in jail;
While reputation sometimes fades,
May this your glamour never fail.

Thanks for the wars for which we paid,
And thanks for paying us the less;
And thanks for never being afraid
To grovel to the Murdoch press.

At last you've drunk the bitter cup
And stopped with that godawful grin;
Your thirteen years of fucking up
Have let - why, thank you - Davey in.