This poem skewers Cameron in a very amusing way…
He knew it was risking too much to appear
On TV with his main oppositional peers
Lest pretence became all too abundantly clear
That he has no defence for his leadership years.
So Call-me-Dave wrangled, all Divo a-dangle
High-handing his arrogance on a gold plate
And his posse-by-proxy manhandled to strangle
The fate of a woefully unsurprised State into
Showing him hiding as one head entangled
In brevity measured to crowded debate.
“This is our final offer” Cons proffered in haste
After months of a chaos they’d fought to create
And the broadcasters’ practise did keenly berate
For the leaving of times and the terms far too late.
And the country cried chick chick chick…
Watching Dave run
From the hum of his shit
And his enemies’ guns
And the fun carried on when his frenemy, Clegg
Made a scramble to lay the Conservatives’ egg
With a pledge to stand…
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