The New Tory Leadership Crisis


We need a new Cuddles to front one last throw
Now that the World and his battered wife know
How we blew their life-savings on a lap-dancing show.

Sir, we need a new Cuddles to pretty it up
For the chap in the pub: how we sold him a pup
And a long spoon, the which with the Devil to sup.

We need a new Cuddles to spice up the dish
When we’re feeding him cat-food and calling it fish
To show that we care when we don’t give a pish!

Sir, we need a new Cuddles to sugar the pill
For him keep taking and keep getting ill
Addicted to what he fondly calls his free will.

We need a new Cuddles to cut with his fix
When he’s down in the gutter and getting his kicks.

Sir, we need a new Cuddles, a Vera Lynn witch
To sing to the troops when they’re in the last ditch.

The message, the medium: mashed in the mix.
The Fat Lady has sung, now she’s doing the splits.

For the show to go on we need some new shticks:
A Maggie with bee-stung Clara Bow lips

Or a blond buffoon on a wire that zips

We need a new Cuddles
before the point




John Constable aka John Crow

Pic: Mike Lesser





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