Well, well, Welby

Beg your pardon

He’s got three Poles

At the bottom of his garden*

And joining in with daily prayers

Some Syrians beneath the stairs

Asylum seekers in his shed

And Communists

Beneath his bed

 

He’s just doing what he can

To pander to the ‘common’ man

To separate the issues, see

Of race and the economy

With good intent to bridge the gap

‘Twixt logic and the racist cr*p

For Welby is a diplomat

Just in case, and just like that

 

It’s not that we’re a racist state

Good luck with that one, Welby, mate

Imagine pubs across the land

The dodgy banter, beer in hand

That Archbishop got it right

We’re all white mate, we’re all white

Share our wealth with all the planet?

Outrageous! (outraged Bob from Thanet)

 

But what of all the fish and bread

With which five thousand mouths were fed

Would Jesus Christ have found it hard

To put up Poles in his back yard?

 

by Gail

 

* A play on the words of an English joke, “Well, well, well, three holes in the garden!”