Bakehouse Cottage

header photo

Odes to Political Toads

Today I'm in a particularly mean frame of mind. I'm thoroughly disgusted with the attitude of Boris & Co. to Obama, repulsed by the repulsive Trump, and waiting pointlessly for a reply that is resolutely not forthcoming from my requests to the Brexit leaders for direction to the location of their costings for the post-Brexit trade deals (conspicuously absent information). And it's raining. So, to entertain myself I've been writing a few very bad odes to our political toads...


I am Trump for President

Once a crook but now just bent

First I wing it then I sling it

But you’ll hear me, lowly limpet

Listen to me blow my Trumpet



I am Boris, brash and boorish

But on my bike I can look poorish

First I bullshit then I bodge it

If that fails then I just dodge it

For nothing wrecks it quite like Brexit



I am Farage, best known for barrage

Of facts I’ve reformed into milky mirage

A soup of red herrings

For kippers – poor things

Who can’t see through my lies

With their firmly closed eyes

They’ll find they’re not wise

When Brexit’s the prize

And tabloid sensation

Becomes isolation

Then I’ll have the power

To make them all cower

While I sit in the pub

Eating tax-free grub

And drinking my beer

With a happy sneer

Go Back