Scent Of A Predator
I'm pretending to be a new scandal
The kind that bites Tories in two
A sexual scoundrel, a vandal
A very exorbitant Blue
A whiff of an Archer, or Currie's and Major's
And then they won't get me for ages and ages
If I was in red-tops as editor
With headlines to launch a best seller
I'd be a top Tory predator
And catching out Aitken or Mellor
Had I a duck-house or moat as a grandee
They'd couldn't touch me and that would be dandy
I'm hoping to make Osborne toothless
I'm hoping to make Osborne nervous
I have to pretend to be ruthless
I'll pretend I'm the whole Civil Service
Minister, please, cut it down to the bone
But whatever you're doing, leave that one alone
But Labour may be just the ointment
To keep any biting at bay
I know they've not made their appointment
But it's coming along any day
Rub in David or Ed, and I'm safe. What's the odds?
(Thank heavens the Milibands didn't have quads.)
