Scot-free
I had a tummy ulcer
And they put me in the san
But at least I had a pulse sir
As I told the national gran
I said How Private Are Your Thoughts!
I Will Never Breathe A Word!
But according to reports
I’ve been caught out. Yes, she purred
When I rang her private palace
To say we’d kept the Scots
I was feeling cool and callous
But today I called the shots
It doesn’t get much better
Than to tell a nation’s treasure
That she has to be your debtor
And to know you give her pleasure
By cunning intervention
(As I said to Mrs Q)
I have stemmed my PM tension
She said Jolly Good For You
But someone’s let my cat out
Someone’s spilled the beans
Perhaps they’ll get the bat out
For my next chat at The Queen’s
Oh biff and bang and golly
Blotting paper down my shorts
I expect she’ll talk of folly
In my end-of term reports
But Ma’am, I’ll be complaining
As I bend across her couch
I do not deserve a caning
And I saved the Union. Ouch!
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