Here is the Seditious Poem about the Blairs
Did The Politician Get His Wife?
what did she get, the girlfriend,
the student union meeting
which he rose to his feet
realised he could speak?
that meeting she got
Snickers bar he forgot to eat
busy was he watching them listen;
that speech, unabridged,
other night for thirty five years.
what did she get, his new wife,
the time he first used a party
microphone to agree with both sides?
okay with the Moslems/Mexicans/Gypsies being here,
those who want them kept over there.
that microphone she took away their
to dine with the Deputy Mayor
his not new wife.
what did she get, his no longer new wife,
at the second attempt,
won that seat on the City Council?
his election she got to drink Pinot Noir
go swimming in their private club
the no-so-new wives
those who got the contracts
make the paving stones and install
pay-and-display ticket machines
his years as Chairman
the relevant committee.
what did she get, his well-maintained wife,
night he was elected to the big shiny
From that night she took away
architect to re-design their new three storey pad
the priciest possible part of the capital,
an article about herself
the Daily Express lifestyle pages.
what did she get, the no longer new MP’s
longer new wife, the morning
made him Minister?
morning she got to go horse riding
the Leader of the House of Lords’
(or fifth) wife.
what did she get, the no longer new
Minister’s wife, the night the landslide
him Prime Minister? That night
got to hold to her breast
to break foie gras
the Sultan of Brunei, the President of China;
the chance to write husband’s speech
the crackdown on beggars
accost hard working
who stop to ask for directions
route to the nearest funeral parlour.
what did she get, the ex-Prime Minister’s
longer new wife, from all the depleted uranium shells
had dropped during the Battle of Basra, all the soldiers
sent to meet improvised explosive
in far Mesopotamia in the hope
getting rid of something bigger
the beggars and prostitutes
Kings Cross. For these she got
him on trial for all their crimes,
the desire to never again
out the front window of their fine
the tree from which, it’s said,
used to once string
There can be fewer things guaranteed to annoy Labour’s incompetent General
Secretary, Crooked McNicol, than poking fun at Tony & Cherie. McNicol is not renowned for his sense of
humour and taking the p*** out of his hero is guaranteed to make him see red I mean blue.