Withdrawal Method (When Being Fucked)

 

There’s only twenty-seven

Where there used to be twenty-eight

Some of us don’t like it

And others think it’s great

Some are hyperventilating

Cos we’ve got our country back

And being obnoxious children

With their little Union Jack

 

Some are crying tears

As they erase a golden star

And want a second chance

Like it’s Euro-VAR

Some are being silly

Others being daft

Europe looked quite sullen

And, of course, Nigel laughed

 

Donald looked smug

As his pulse began to quicken

Salivating over selling us

His chlorinated chicken

Irishmen were telling us

There has to be a border

And John was heard to bellow

Ordeeeerrrrrr – Ordeeeeeer

 

But there wasn’t any order

There wasn’t any sense

And not one opinionated fucker

Was sitting on the fence

You were either in or out

Or you didn’t bloody care

Which meant that you got out

And then claimed it wasn’t fair

 

There isn’t a way forward

There’s not a cunning plan

And it doesn’t mean you can do it

Just because you say you can

So tonight bang on eleven

As someone lets off a rocket

I’m praying that the sparks

Hit the fucker in the pocket

 

That Boris gets his come-uppance

For overseeing this pure farce

And he can stick his fucking flag

Up his fucking arse

You see I’m not really angry

Over what I can’t control

But I’m telling you this

If you voted for this own goal

 

And you start to weep and moan

Because you fell for all the lies

When the idiots can’t deliver

And you’re showing some surprise

I will ask you how you voted

and believe me, have no doubt

You will find little sympathy

If you voted out