Apologies to Alf

 

I

Half a brain, half a brain,

Half a brain forward,

All in the vale of Despair

Groped the six hundred.

“Somewhere the Fright Brigade!

Run for the hills!” he said.

Into the vale of Despair

Groped the six hundred.

II

“Fumble, the Fright Brigade!”

Was there a plan arrayed?

Not that the Members knew

Someone had blundered.

Theirs not to even try,

Theirs not to wonder why,

Theirs but to drink bars dry.

Into the vale of Despair

Moped the six hundred.

 

III

Jacob to right of them,

Jezza to left of them,

Chaos in front of them

Hollered and blundered;

Drawn by division bell,

Grimly they vote and tell,

They’re gasping for breath,

Into the mouth of hell

Groped the six hundred.

 

IV

Flashed all their arses bare,

Smashed and without a care

Spreading such deep despair,

Charging the EU, while

All the world wondered.

Pulling an Irish stroke

Leaving the union broke;

Tories and Socialists,

Using mirrors and smoke

Shattered and sundered hope.

They bust their infernal plot

Bemused the six hundred.

 

V

BoJo to right of them,

Swinson to left of them,

Chaos on top of them

Blustered and fumbled;

Stormed out with frantic yell,

Lies upon lies to tell.

They that dissembled well

Exhausted their very breath,

Spreading the fear of hell,

Such minds as were left in them,

Split the six hundred.

 

VI

When will his Trumping fade?

O the wild bluff they made!

All the world wondered.

Dead in a ditch he laid!

Dead with his fright Brigade,

Pathetic six hundred!