The Phoney Warrior

Solo
Dear Brexit's Hope, by twits renowned
In loud œncomium,
With chicken wattle art thou crowned
At vacant podium!
Thou warrior for Britain's way,
Defender of the ERG,
Hast fled the field in disarray
From mighty Luxembourg.

Chorus
Blond and bloated Tory, mugger of the poor,
How shall we deplore thee, who art such a boor?
Higher still and higher raised by racist set,
Sods made thee mighty, much to our regret!
Sods made thee mighty, much to our regret!

Solo
Thy lies are blue as Ocean wide,
As England small and loud:
A mouth that dares, and heeds not pride
Nor causes to be proud;
And while it brags and boasts a lot
Of what thy betters won
Weary Britannia looks on what
Thou silly squit hast done.

Chorus
Blond and bloated Tory, blatherer in chief,
How shall we deplore thee, sneaky chicken thief?
For the House of Commons far too weak and wet,
Sods gave thee Blighty, and thou blight'st us yet!
Sods gave thee Blighty, and thou blight'st us yet!

Johnson B Snobgargle