Lead me, idiot, to the ‘promised land’,

Where we can be free, free of Brussels.

Free of immigrants, and others I don’t understand.

We’ll have lots of money and fish galore

The supermarket and the surgery will

For ever be mine with a crowded no more.

Hospitals will welcome me within the hour

British medics will attend us efficient as ever

No more jostling with immigrants dour.

Wait, just a moment, this can’t be true

I remember the bus and all those lies,

Surely it’s Boris that hasn’t a clue.

We agree the Brussels department is bust

We dopes voted despite our ignorant guess

We have to leave now, for democracy we must.

Dear David what a poisoned gift you have left

Barmy Boris and co in charge of this awful mess

Let’s hope, dear boy, UK doesn’t go left.

What’s ancient Greek for ‘I don’t understand’?

Let’s giggle away the problems we can’t see

In Boris’s incoherent, his last great grand-stand.

Where to now? I hear you plaintively enquire

To poverty or wealth or Mojo-land

Now here’s a fact, – one thing for sure, we have no bloody idea!