Boris had a little think
It wasn’t going well
And so he had another drink
His queasiness to quell
‘I like a nice Merlot’ he said
‘Although a cheaper wine
It gets me proper off my head
And leaves me feeling fine’
Boris poured a massive glass
Of Merlot, and some more
And woke up fallen on his arse
Upon the kitchen floor
‘I blame that Rishi bloke for this
Theresa May for that
And anyone who takes the piss
In opposition sat’
‘You mark my words’ he gestured in
The mirror, ‘I will rise
Like Jesus Christ and – where’s the gin?
I’ve run out of supplies’
He wobbled to the kitchen and
Cried ‘Carrie, what’s to do?’
And with his member in his hand
‘Look what I’ve got for you!’
The house was empty though, the halls
Were of his wife bereft
He felt a sinking in his balls
Was no-one, no-one left?
‘Cooee!’ Thank God, it was Nadine!
How fragrant she! They kissed
‘My God, my love, where have you been?
Come, help me get more pissed’
And so she trotted to the shop
And bought him wine and beer
Prosecco, porn, and fizzy pop
Enough to last a year
And oh the party that they had
‘You’re wonderful’ she gushed
‘I know’ said Boris, ‘and I’m bad’
‘I know you are’ she blushed
And then there was a knock and it
Was Jacob – ‘Come and join!’
Said Nadine, flopping out a tit
And tickling his groin
And it was perfect. Jacob in
His gimp suit, Boris drunk
And Nadine high on fancy gin
‘What was the thought I thunk?’
Thought Boris. For he had forgot
Quite who he was and why
Was he Prime Minister, or not?
And he began to cry
But not for long, for sweet Nadine
Did dry his eyes and pour
Another drink, for she was keen
To get him on the floor
‘You’re wonderful’ she said
‘I know’ said Boris, ‘so are you’
(Though anyone would do in bed
When he had had a few)
‘And baby I got Brexit done’
‘Oh say it once again
Shakespearean and sweetly spun
You giant among men!’
We’ll leave them to it there, I think
They few, they happy few
Nadine the prettiest in pink
And Boris in the loo
And Jacob dressed in latex. Ew
What some folk do for kicks
‘At least we’re not in the EU’
Said Boris, between sicks
‘You OK, hun?’ said sweet Nadine
‘Of course I am’ he said
‘And I will rise again, my Queen
To bed, my love, to bed!’
© Gail Foster 10th June 2022
Boris Johnson
He Always Was Conservative, Was Fred
He always was Conservative, was Fred 'The one thing they will never take away - Conservative and proud!' he used to say 'And British. British born and British bred' He liked a bit of bunting on the shed And Elgar, bits of which he liked to play Upon his trumpet on Election Day 'To keep away the immigrants' he said When Boris came at first he liked him well But then there was the party thing, and he Was not impressed by that, nor by the smell Of bullshit, Truss's rubbish, his MP - The list went on. He just said 'Fucking Hell!' And died, they said, in front of the TV © Gail Foster 21st October 2022
Mr Sheen
Imagine, if you will, the sorry scene The morning after, when, for all their sins You've had to go and empty all the bins At Downing Street. You didn't want to clean Who does? You spray a mist of Mr Sheen And polish, then you pick up all the tins With fag butts in, and bottles of fruit gins With lipstick on, and wonder who has been The twat who spaffed the red wine up the wall Or drunk enough to decorate with sick The silken carpets running up the hall If you were rich you'd tell them where to stick Their fucking job, their fag butts, and their wine - You spray a bit more Mr Sheen, and shine © Gail Foster 26th May 2022
Boris Had A Little Do
Boris had a little do With biscuits and with cheese As little bits of blossom blew Upon the British breeze It was against the rules but hey As if he gave a toss It was a warm and sunny day And Boris was the boss Be sure your sins will find you out And somebody did tell And everyone began to shout 'What is that horrid smell?' 'It's Boris Johnson's lucky pants He coughed and followed through!' And suddenly the sycophants (Except for one or two Or three or four or five or six) Did hail a passing bus And chucked him under it. Mud sticks And no-one wants a fuss 'Alas poor Boris. Knew him well But didn't want to be Associated with the smell' They said. 'It wasn't me!' Said Boris, bleating like a lamb His back against the wall 'I'll go get Jonathan Van Tam And he'll explain it all' But silence was the stern reply Expedience the crack And so the shit began to fly And Boris got the sack Or did he? Will he? Won't he? What? His fleece is white as snow And even though he's lost the plot There's still the book to go 'It wasn't me!' he said. But there Was no-one left to hear He ran his fingers through his hair And poured another beer And waited for the storm to pass Which only took a while For being of a certain class And of a certain style The shit slid off him easily So shiny was his skin And sure enough and sleazily He slipped his way back in And had another little do With biscuits and with cheese And laughter on the breezes blew All through the London trees And all was well for Boris, hey For no-one gave a toss It was a warm and sunny day And Boris was the boss © Gail Foster 11th January 2022
Quis? Ego
~ on the anointing of Alexander Boris de Pfeffel Johnson
So what if it was just a drunken dare
Quis? Ego! Made at Eton long ago
I dub thee Boris of the Golden Hair
Servus, servum, servi, servo, servo
So what if afterwards they went to town
and ordered tiny sparrows stuffed inside
six rare exotic birds and chased it down
with virgins’ tears in mouths so open wide
one could believe designed to fit the poor
in at such times there are no partridges
Amo! Amas! Deus! Deum! and more
Dom Perignon! To Boris! Boris is
The Chosen One! So long ago, the dare
At Eton, or more probably, elsewhere
© Gail Foster 24th July 2019
Boris Made A Little Bus 🚌
Boris made a little bus
That’s lovely, Boris, Nanny said
Another bus. That’s nice for us
And went and put it in the shed
Boris made another bus
And painted it in blue and red
That’s nice, said Nanny, made a fuss
And went and put it in the shed
He’s made another fucking bus!
The Nanny to the butler said
You know I like it when you cuss
He said, a quick one in the shed?
I would, said Nanny, but it’s chock
Ablock with buses. Little shit
‘I’ve made another bus!’ The cock
And straight in to the shed with it
Boris made another bus
I made it all myself, he said
Another bus. That’s nice for us
And went and put it in the shed
Boris made another bus
Enough! said Nanny turning red
I’ve had enough of buses, plus
There’s no room in the fucking shed!
Boris bought another shed
Look, Nanny, now there’s lots of space!
That’s lovely, Boris, Nanny said
A little smile on her face
© Gail Foster 26th June 2019
Oh God, It’s The Conservatives
Oh God, it’s the Conservatives
Dear, must we have them round for tea?
They’re such a shifty bunch of spivs
Oh God, it’s the Conservatives
As slimy as and armed with shivs
For stabbing those who disagree
Oh God, it’s the Conservatives
Dear, must we have them round for tea?
Oh God, it’s Johnson and McVey
and Sayid Javid. Quick, the lock!
And Gove and Raab have come to play
Oh God, it’s Johnson and McVey
I’m frightened. Make them go away
Be quiet and ignore the knock
Oh God, it’s Johnson and McVey
and Sayid Javid. Quick, the lock!
Oh God, they’ve seen us. Gove is at
The window waving. Now we’re fucked
Coee! Says Sayid. Rat a tat!
Oh God they’ve seen us. Gove is at
The door with Andrea, and that
Is Johnson with his shirt untucked
Oh God, they’ve seen us. Gove is at
The window waving. Now we’re fucked
Oh God, it’s the Conservatives
Too late to stop them coming in
And cutting lines up with their shivs
Oh God, it’s the Conservatives
All bullshit and superlatives
Lock up your daughters and the gin
Oh God, it’s the Conservatives
Too late to stop them coming in
© Gail Foster 11th June 2019
Captain Pugwash Britain
Today we are Captain Pugwash Britain
~~~~~~~
Image © Ted da Yonga 2016 Quote © Gail Foster 2016
All Out For In, Boys; Vote Remain
*
I’m all out for In, Boys, I’m all out for In
I’ll not consign dear Europe to the bonfire or the bin
We’ve fought too many flippin’ wars to call this thing a day
And isn’t such division just a little bit passé?
We’re a tiny little island, all surrounded by the sea
And the days of the Empire are consigned to history
Let’s not be cast adrift, Boys, in some Captain Pugwash boat
Vote to stay in Europe, Boys, it won’t dry up the moat
What say you? Immigration? What, the white ones or the black?
Which ones, which precisely, are you wanting to send back?
The ones who work for naff all cash, in dirt and sweat and mud?
Or the ones who ran from ISIS just to save their children’s blood?
What say you? Benefits? Well now, you’d best look in to that
It isn’t quite that easy for them all to get a flat
There’s rules to do with public funds, and residence as well
And doesn’t all that tax evasion leave a nasty smell?
And what about Intelligence, and Military Alliance
Employment, the Economy, and Human Rights compliance?
What will happen if we leave, well, lovely Boys, it won’t be pretty
There’ll be rhetoric on rhetoric, committee on committee
And all of flippin’ Europe will be looking down its nose
“You’re not with us, you’re against us” will be how the anthem goes
And Boris, hey don’t start me off, don’t listen to the bloke
Unless you went to Eton you’re the punchline of his joke
“More Bolly, Boris?” “Do you know, I don’t mind if I do
Oh dear, I fear I’ve drunk the lot, and now there’s none for you”
And Dave isn’t much better, though he’s talking far more sense
Hey, even Ms Claire Perry’s on the right side of the fence
And what about the Berlin Wall, the night that it came down
You could hear the cheers from Germany from old Devizes Town
We all thought that was progress, some sure sign of evolution
How can leaving Europe be a sensible solution?
And would you trust the Government to sell you a used car?
I’d rather have them supervised by Europe, thank you, ta
So, Votey McVote Face, it’s all down to you
I’m all out for In, Boys, and I hope that you are too
*
© Gail Foster 2016
gailfromdevizes 