You talk like that twat Winston Churchill
And you walk like Co Co the clown
Your clothes are all designer scruffy
And your barnet’s all over your crown, and your face, (yes it is!)
You live in the highest of places
With your girlfriend and Larry the cat
Where you plan for world domination
While making buses from tat, and bits of wood, (yes you do!)
But where do you go to my ugly?
When you’re alone in your head
Do you have flashbacks of conscience?
Regretting the things that you’ve said, and what you’ve done, (no you don’t!)
You slagged scousers off in the media
And ‘bum boy’ is your term for Gay
Black people are just ‘piccaninnies’
And women should be sent on their way, with a pat, (on the bum)
Your comments and lies brought you trouble
But you managed to just laugh it off
Your Teflon enamel existence
Comes from being a Bullingdon Toff, with your nose in the trough, (yes it is!)
The brief job you had in far places
Was riven with blunders and costs
Your allowing those arms sales to Saudi
Resulted in lives being lost, you should be shot, (you stupid clot!)
So where do you come from my ugly?
Who is it backing your claims?
Why do they trust in your chaos?
Maybe they’re all just the same, or maybe worse (can this be?)
Your political outlook is frightening
And bumptiousness maybe a game
But this caricature does not fool us
Cos we can see inside your brain