Bojo’s Round Table Talks (aka Knight of the Long Connives)
His armour it will suit him so well
For his honour is going to swell
Up with pride so much
His arse can keep in touch
With his soul, Bo, while burning in hell
For he surely can’t get out alive
When he struggled so hard to connive
To plot and to twist
That he’s knackered his wrist
Due to Dominic Cumming – he writhes
In an agony of ecstasy
Or cocaine – with which they made hay
It would be a long night
But when came the daylight
His fears they had all gone away
Yet he sensed there was something he’d lost
His armour was abandoned and tossed
In an untidy pile
He lied there for a while
Wondering what it might have all cost
But he shook the dust out from his hair
(Quite a long time it had lingered there)
Though no longer virgin
It wasn’t his burden
Others screwed, they were, why should he care
His last act – get around a round table
To show us, all of which, he was able
The knight’s circle must jerk
His strategy to work
For a deal! His ex-calibre fable