Dream Team
We’re the dream team: in your sleep
We’re ego, id and super-creep –
We conspire, beneath your sheet
To bring you out in prickly heat
Bojo Baggins, mouthing drool,
Mikey Gove, the poor man’s fool,
Jake the Mogg, his turn-ups straight –
Oh how we'll horripilate
From the noxious land of Nod,
Hear our sullen, heavy plod,
Hear the dragging of our chains,
Search in vain for any brains
Here we come, a shocking trio,
Without a single ounce of brio –
Hear us as we manifest:
A leech, a sucker and a pest
If you’ve had some shuteye grief
Wait till we three are the chief –
You will feel our gamma waves
Drag you to your restless graves
We aren’t Bobtail, Rag and Tag
We will make you pule and gag –
We will choke you on your chips
In zombie-lite apocalypse
Watch us, all you daily hacks,
Stab each other in our backs –
Now there’ll be no further kip
On your phlegm-stained pillow-slip
No more wool for you to gather:
Are you ready for our blather?
We hope you’re in your dressing-gown:
Dystopia has come to town
Click here for a news story (originally in The Sunday Times)
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