He’s gone, he’s gone the bastard’s gone-
put the flags out, sound the horn.
Rejoice and sing a merry tune
and thank the tories with a backbone,
who had the guts to stick him in
and cause lard arse to lose his grin.
But still the sycophants shout, ‘it’s a conspiracy,
and he’ll be back another day.
And on that day he’ll win again,
to stand up tall and take the helm.’
After all he was made to lead us
command the minions to do as he wishes.
But if this happens, I tell you this,
most of Britain will be miffed.
He was at the end of the humility queue,
instead he thinks he’s better than you.
He’d like the workhouse opened, the likes of me in it,
take all of our money, because he deserves it.
Johnson the parasite has had his day;
he’s gone, he’s finished, come what may.
No peerage, no statue to remember him,
the first PM to be fined for committing a crime
He’ll go down in history as being a liar,
who only used others to step up higher.