Sea Farce (Spa Wars)

Spa Wars (Aka Use The Farce - Look!)

It is the Tory sewage farce
England will not wipe its fat arse
While down in Bath
Mogg has a laugh
With cling ons as hard as death starch 

Encrusted on his “mother’s” hip
This barnacle of the state’s ship
Nanny starts wrecks
With phrased “err, Brex”
It’s dark side is upon Mogg’s lips

Palpitations in ex cess swings
Raw effluent, merciless mings
As Mogg’s tied shiter
Sphincter gets tighter
Dark matter shoots out with a zing

Then in in a Flash, Gordon’s alive
Brown saves the Empire (bonnie Clive)
With his brave words
As Thunder Turds
Ejected one, to Johnnies five

The water world soon starts to smell
With such a stench it seems like hell
Darth Mogg is pleased
Restrictions eased
Deregulated egos swell

Just like the sea so full of junk
These Tory sump fires - cyber punk’s
Floating excreta
Dividends sweet, a
Way to profit from their costs, skunks …

Could not make a more rancid odour
Is this Priti Patel’s new mode, her
Way of thinking 
Always stinking
“Stop immigrants” with a green loada

“Your in areas you aren’t meant
To be in, our urine prevents
You wanting in
Our garbage bin
Of an Empire more than cement”

And also getting Brex shit done
Don’t forget Bo, Jo Ninety’s runs
Verbal diarrhoea
The print cess leava
Thinks his job’s smearing Spa’s for fun

And if this story makes you sick
Remember glory’s goal will stick
Their faecal matter
With a splatter
Gun approach - of Tories (Sith)