We cocked up the Brexit vote,
we cocked up the football
All we want's another beer
and tuppence in the bureau.
Their face is painted red and white,
Their shirts are made of nylon,
They drape themselves in England flags,
sing like their a moron.
It's no go the muddied oafs
England beat by Iceland.
Tears run down the English face
We slink back to our Island.
David Cameron he messed up,
He hid behind the sofa
Boris Johnson made a face;
he hit him with the poker.
Feel a pain between your ribs
Maybe you're in Labour?
Mister Corbyn all alone
Beggared by his neighbour.
Cock a snook at clever folk
Don't believe in experts
We'd rather read the Daily Mail
And sneer at cocky Herberts.
No time for city types
No time for cockneys
Cheered up the northern folk
To kick them in the Hockneys.
It's three cheers from Scottish throats
It's three cheers for Sturgeon!
England is a basket case
So send out for a surgeon.
Grandad is a bogey man
Gave away our future.
Patch it up with sticky tape
Or mend it with a suture.
It's goodbye the Polski sklep.
Goodbye to summer.
The country's going round the bend
But where's the Polish plumber?
It's no go the NHS
The promises mistaken.
All the nurses on a boat
And all the money's taken.
It's no go my dear true love,
it's no go my poppet,
Work your hands from day to day,
the winds will blow the profit.
The glass is falling hour by hour,
the glass will fall forever,
But if you break the bloody glass
you won't hold up the weather.
Last verse and inspiration for this piece, Louis MacNeice, Bagpipe Music, 1938.
YOU ARE READING
Second Wind
PoetryHighest rank #12 in Poetry Second Wind is an eclectic collection of mostly light hearted poems but often has a serious message and takes the occasional side swipe at politicians and those in power.
