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Look Nigel, Boris and Dave are all climbing out of the cave
No longer keen to be an MP - they’d rather freak-out at a rave!
The Commons have driven them sickly
So they’re clearing their desks rather quickly
With no thought for Rishi, 
Their hasty escape looks quite fishy.
Well, why would they sit on a bench, in a House with an unpleasant stench?
They recall when an MP had status, but are hardly believed when they hate us. (Nadine, Nadine, Nadine, Nadine, please don’t join them just because you can)

The good people of Uxbridge or Frome 
Seem contented if these chaps stay home -
They might be tired of dull conference speeches
And prefer to spend time on the beaches;
Remote from those eager young aides, they’ll draw lines in the sand with their spades;
When life gets remarkably tough, their choice looks straightforward enough.

As member for Selby in Yorks, Nigel Adams was wont to give talks,
For a gentleman focused on fracking his awareness was possibly lacking. 
However for Tories he has lost his thirst, so his family’s future came first. Now, the battle to be his successor 
Is intense, just ask any professor, 
And so candidates now set their sails, 
As they roam through the picturesque Dales.
Allegations might well get bitter, especially on WhatsApp or Twitter!

Our supply-chains are creaking in places, 
Not helped by glum Brexiteer faces,
So let’s hope the new intake is firm, 
For we’re tired of those members who squirm.
(We don’t need boot-lickers, aloof city-slickers, or chancers who won’t last one term)
And regardless of their party badge, we won’t welcome chaps on-the-cadge,
Don’t you fiddle expenses or abandon your senses!
So let’s hope that turnout is high, 
As we bid Nigel and BoJo goodbye.

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