“Carpe diem! Seize the day!”
cried PM, Theresa May
“Time for me to fly away,
and leave it all in ruins.”

The country lies in ashen tatters.
Who will lead us? Doesn’t matter!
The lot of ’em are mad as hatters,
but Boris looks a shoe in.

Oh what a leader he would make.
A scarecrow maker’s sad mistake,
leaving fear and chaos in his wake,
and racial slurs a-plenty.

Across the pond, he’s quite a hit
with a certain orange sack of shit
who refuses to just up and quit,
and looks to 2020.

But the USA (led by a lump
of cursed play-doh named Donald Trump,
with all the charm of a week old dump)
is a problem for tomorrow.

No, we have a home-grown trouble.
As the befuddled and dishevelled double
of famous caveman Barney Rubble,
is primed to cause us sorrow.

Unless of course, another Tory
becomes the “hero” of our story,
perhaps instead, Prime Minister Rory,
will lead us to the light.

An underdog perhaps and yet
there’s many folk who’d lay a bet
that the leader spot he’s SURE to get,
but something isn’t right.

Now, Rory Stewart, he likes to wander
about the town, from here to yonder
and oftentimes he’ll stop and ponder
his unusual beginnings.

For he was carved by old Gepetto,
who whittled away with a fine stiletto,
while reciting spells in high falsetto,
all the while a-grinning.

A haunted marionette, he walks
about the common folk and talks
and no-one knows, or else they’d balk
at this living puppet.

I think, in fact, we’d better not
offer up the top political spot
to a politician with dry rot
who was kicked out of The Muppets.

On Jeremy Hunt, i’ll not waste much time.
He’s a walking, talking sack of slime.
The body part with which his surname rhymes,
will serve as his description.

I wouldn’t moan if he caught a cough
and coughed so hard his cock fell off
and every doctor laughed and scoffed
and gave him no prescription.

On to Gove then, I suppose.
Looks like a lizard in people clothes.
Shoved half of Columbia up his nose,
but now asks us to trust him.

He was more than happy to discuss
the lie scrawled on the Brexit bus
and call it truth, so I wouldn’t fuss
if Thanos came to dust him.

No, not Gove, so who else is left.
Dominic Raab? A man bereft
of charm and intellectual heft,
who worries me intensely.

His Brexit plan is a total disgrace.
He’d see us leave with no deal in place.
A smile across his plastic face,
enjoying it all immensely.

So Raab is out, the list grows thin.
Sajid Javid could maybe win?
He’s committed no major sin,
that I can find, but wait…

Now, as I begin to research further
it seems he shares ol’ plasti-Raab’s fervour
for ceasing our European merger
without a deal. Oh, mate…

What is it with the Brexit crowd?
They seem ridiculously proud
of the pile of shit into which they’ve plowed
the future of our nation.

“We don’t need a bloody deal!
We’ll go back to making steel!
Or maybe jam will serve to heal
our damaged global station?

It doesn’t matter either way,
so long as Europe goes away!
Foreign buggers have too much say
in how we go about it.

And sure, we haven’t thought it through,
but what are we supposed to do?
We don’t like the damn EU!
and by God we’ll bloody shout it!”

So no to Javid, that’s the lot.
No other names are in the pot.
Mcvey thought she had a shot,
but thankfully that faltered.

She’s not the leader type, you see.
She should have stuck to GMTV.
Instead, she steered the DWP
as benefits were altered.

She fucked it up. There, I said it!
She called for Universal Credit
a plan which needed massive edits
before beginning roll out.

She was told the plan should be delayed,
but no argument would dissuade
her from her plans to cause dismay
and so I hope her organs fall out.

So sod it all, no point in worrying
as toward the rocks the ship is hurrying
and from the portholes, rats are scurrying
to save themselves from drowning.

No, why concern ourselves with that?
Why be another scurrying rat?
We’re fucked and that’s the end of that.
No need to sit here, frowning.

So no to every option thrown.
No marionette, no plastic clone,
no scarecrow with a heart of stone,
no to every one.

Let’s scrap it all and start again.
Let’s end all this Tory pain.
Let’s give me the sodding reins
and let me have some fun.