132 – Admiral Ackbar

Poem number 132
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Admiral Ackbar
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“Admiral Ackbar!” they cry, “Admiral Ackbar!”
They charge into the crowd, lightsabres ablaze
They slash and maim and kill
No longer Jedis, though they mouth the words
Empty husks
The Dark Side has suffused and seduced them
The Force cries out in pain
And Yoda weeps.

151 – The Ballad Of BoJo

Poem number 151
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The Ballad Of BoJo
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There once was a man with blonde hair
Spent quite a long while as a Mayor
But his bid to be Boss
Ended up in a loss
And he had to retreat to his lair.
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For the moral (which has such renown)
Of this tale of ambition shot down
Is the man with the knife
In political life
Is the one man who won’t win the crown.

156 – Day Trip To Calais

Poem number 156
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Day Trip To Calais
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I went into a cafe
And I asked for a baguette
The lady said “You’re English? Then it’s Hovis that you get,
And don’t you ask for pate
Nor our camembert or brie
For you we just have marmite –
‘Cause that English too, you see?
You said you hated Europe
So French food is out of bounds,
We don’t stock beans or cheddar
And we don’t take English pounds
So if marmite’s not your cup of tea
There’s nothing here for you
The Brexit door’s just over there –
Why don’t you step on through?
Go home and chew your kidney pies
Enjoy your boring cheese
Your wishy washy coffee
And your gammon, egg and peas,
We’ll keep our freshly baked baguettes
Charcuterie and wine
Go home and have some floppy bread
I’m sure you’ll do just fine.”

157 – Donald Trump’s A Fuckwit

Poem number 157
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Donald Trump’s A Fuckwit
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Donald Trump’s a fuckwit
He has but half a mind
His head is full of bullshit
Of the total fuckwit kind
He’s such a fucking fuckwit
But he’ll probably win the race
And sit there in the White House
With his stupid fuckwit face
Donald you’re a fuckwit
And you’ll always be the same
Such a fucking fuckwit
Fuckwit Donald, that’s your name.

389 – Ey Up Granville

Poem number 389
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Ey Up Granville
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Me whippet died on Tuesday
I were workin’ hard at t’ pit
Me Mam brought up his body
An’ some Hovis an’ some grit
I buried ‘im at lunchtime
As I ate me bit o’ bread
A reet good little dog ‘e were,
I’m sorry that ‘e’s dead.
I piled up grit on top o’ ‘im
An’ said a miner’s prayer
“Lovin’ Lord o’ Pitmen
Take this dog wi’ gentle care –
He only bit t’ postman
When he knew ‘e ‘ad a bill
An’ ‘e never bit me ferret,
It were only rats ‘e’d kill
I’m sorry that ‘e’s dead o’ Lord
He really were me mate
But at least I’ll save t’shilling
Of t’ cost of all ‘e ate.”