Dear God, help the people

of Clacton-on-Sea,

who, thinking that things

were as bad as could be,

imagined their saviour,

that frog with a gob,

with a laugh and a smoke,

and a pint in his hand,

the working-man’s bloke,

might change his behaviour,

might just do his job,

keeping shit from their rivers

and shit from their shores?

but his amour now is orange,

s...

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Pinocchio Johnson and Tim,

What a combo was ‘Spoons and Wrecksit,

Being egged on by Farage’s grin.

But the Moggian uplands aren’t sunlit,

Now we’re weeping into our gin,

As we crunch on our unicorn shit,

It’s a damn sight more ardua than astra,

To be frank, it’s a bloody disaster!

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