Cuddly Cummings clicked his pen
Clucking like a mother hen
Round his blond and fluffy chick,
Fearing he’d do something thick.
And Boris did.
Shaking hands with all he could
Bojo didn’t feel so good
On the day the virus got him,
And the nurses’ needles shot him.
So Cummings hid.
Briefings then by one and all
(Each one just before their fall
Into burning Covid’s hands)
Pointed to the Promised Lands.
The Promises came thick and fast
Masks and aprons, but aghast
Staff found only bin-bag cover
Who’d remain a Tory lover?
‘There’ll be thousands right here soon’,
Chanted Hancock, Bojo’s goon
And they did in great big packs
Useless too, just plastic sacks.
What a waste!
‘All who need it will be tested’.
Really they should be arrested
For their lies and killing spree
Will they pay the price? We’ll see.
Live in hope.
Far too many folk have cried,
NHS and care staff died.
We must hope they come to rue
The day they chose to rule as two.
As, just maybe, will all the Tory voters.