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!