And Now For Something Completely
Philip, with a careful quip
Half-balanced on his lower lip
Wonders, if we sink the ship
How we’ll find the deeps
Pip, my boy, when overboard
From a ship unsafely moored
You share the lifeboat with a horde
Of worthless, witless creeps
Boris, with his tongue askew
Biting what he cannot chew
Would sail canoes to Timbuktu
If he knew where it lay
Theresa, in her tartan kit
Will hawk whatever can’t be spit
And tell you that a Brit’s a Brit
When once a castaway
Here you go, into the brine
A poor and porous chorus line
As thick as oil of turpentine
As if in outer space
Remember when you’re on the brink
Of drowning in the endless drink
That what can float may also sink
God bless our island race
Click here for the interview in Die Welt
