Stammering Keir Starmer
Stammering Keir Starmer....
This Keir Starmer,
He's a Grandma harmer,
Not a ganja farmer.
He's a Bit of a dahmer,
Here in Britain,
Nothings calmer,
Like this Man,
Is a body embalmer.
Where's his charm-a,
A political armor,
In the House of Commons,
He’s a drama armer.
Policies not tighter,
A non-future igniter,
In the UK scene,
He’s a headline writer.
In this war though,
He's No kind of fighter.
His future's dark,
Though he promises brighter.
See,
Keir stammers so much,
He cant hold a damn lighter!
I bet you as well,
He's a cock 'n' ball biter.
Once hes been in your sheets,
They'll never again be whiter!
Spot the difference,
between him and a flying pig,
'F' is what you're looking for,
though lying ain't big.
Stammering Sir Starmer,
now he wears a minister's wig,
Hell Bent and broken,
he'll snap like a twig.
He can't handle his station,
like a dog can't a fig,
It's a toxication,
of our nation,
getting too big.
Causing damnation,
as he takes the public down,
With his damn inflation,
he's the unwanted,
Talk of the town.
Promises made,
but they're all just smoke,
In the halls of power,
He's a cruel joke.
Bent truths and twisted lies,
he's playing the game,
But the people see through,
they know his name!
Copyright ©
James Bevan
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