Boris

But some, I think, are trapped in a dream,A dream where words never make itTo a land of deeds.Boris doles out lies like a fond mumDoles out sweets –Allowing tomorrow to deal with decay . . .

We cannot fight seventy five million TurksWho will land on our beachesIf we surrender to the hegemonyOf an EU which will bury us inIdentical EU coffinsAfter a diet of EU rules and food;We will be awash not with foreigners,But zillions of extra poundsTo fund our NHS;I was a wonderful London mayorWho banished rough sleepersAnd flooded the streets with coppersWhile accepting government cuts;A magnificent Foreign SecretaryWho helped the Iranian wallahsTo offer free board and lodgingsTo that Zaghari Ratcliff woman whoObviously fancied a stay in Ayatolla Land;I will banish doom and gloom,Make a Boris Britain as great a placeAs Donald’s USA;A land where even tank-topped bumboysAnd picaninnies with watermelon smilesWill have their cake and eat it;I have, like Winnie who faced down the Hun,After years of struggle got Brexit done . . .

Now only the facts can make him a bum.