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. He’s a cock
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. He’s a cock

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

 

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