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Bye-bye, Boris – on your bike.
Party as much as you damn well like,
But do it away from Number Ten
And don’t show your face round there again.
Ta da, Boris – take your leave.
Wave to the citizens you deceive
With your self-preservation, two-faced lies
And your affable posh boy wazzock guise.
Do one, Boris – off you fuck.
Even you know that you’ve pushed your luck
Past the bounds of class and decency
And you’re neck deep in shite and infamy.
So long, Boris – sling your hook.
Pay for the liberties that you took
With your job and your last shred of dignity
As you die on that hill of hypocrisy.
Copyright © Ross A Adamson. All Rights Reserved.