Pub Landlord for

Pub Landlord for

There’s turmoil in South Thanet,
A coastal town in Kent,
Where TV’s farce Pub Landlord
Will run for parliament.

The proletariat are keen:
They prize his jesting flair.
Behind their acted nods and smiles,
Politicos despair.

It’s grim for Nigel Farage;
He thought he had it bagged.
This restless borough’s set to swing
Since Tory zeal has flagged.

The other candidates won’t like
The spotlight being so bright,
Nor going up against Al’s wit
And crude comedic might.

The prat’s among the pigeons;
The UKIP vote could split
As Kippers won’t know which of them’s
The bigger right-wing twit.

Al’s sexist xenophobia
Will satirise and mock;
He’ll roast old Nigel’s rhetoric;
The UKIP boat will rock.

He’ll capture Little England
With pledges honed to cut:
He'll make the pound worth one pound ten
And brick the Tunnel shut.

He’ll diss the French and Germans
And cheapen booze for you;
He’ll take us out of Europe –
And the solar system, too.

His 'common sense solutions'
Will thrill the working class.
The world will watch as politics
Goes through the looking glass.

Copyright © Ross A Adamson. All Rights Reserved.