The Ballad of Brexit

They’ve banned the salsa in Stretford

Stopped pasta in Heaton Moor

They’ve put a full cork on prosecco

As part of the First Brexit War.

 

No pizzas allowed now in Burnage,

Chopped Salami in Cheetham Hill.

Bratwurst are now quite forbidden,

For fear Krauts may make us quite ill.

 

Olives are spiked now in Chorlton,

 Spaghetti is banned in Moss Side,

Pulled the ring on tango in Trafford

Europhile Manchester’s died.

 

In Didsbury there’s no more tapas,

Fallowfield makes no faux pas

Withington’s no longer chic

Summat’s not je ne sais quoi.

 

The coffee scenario’s shocking

No lattes or mochas no more.

Baristas no worthy profession

Black or white is now the law.

Cul de sacs are now forgotten,

As dead end culture takes hold,

Be proud of your great country England,

The motto which now we are sold.

 

Without Chopin or Bach or Beethoven,

Or Abba’s sweet Euro pop,

A WASPISH life’s not worth living,

When foreignness we seek to stop.

 

We are a nation of migrants,

Four tribes once invaded our shores,

Then Norsemen were followed by Normans,

That blood makes the Three Lions roar.

 

So I’m bidding adieu to this Britain,

It’s broken (kaput?), so a bientot

Ciao to the racists and bigots,

To those who can only say no.

 

Let’s make Britain great once again,

The mantra which looks to the past,

But acceptance and love for each other

Are virtues so easily lost.