Planet Boris
Deep in outer space
There’s a very strange place
They call Planet Boris
Its ruler, it seems,
Is a man of extremes
And slick verbal artifice.
Though he walks like Shrek
Humped back, stunted neck
Simian arms slung low
There’s nothing to stop him
When politics are frothing
From always stealing the show.
A classicist buffoon
His speeches are strewn
With Greek and Latin sources
He snorts and guffaws
At sycophantic applause
Whatever his cause is.
His stentorian style
Is not without guile
Appealing to all classes
But he prefers to be
with the hooray Henrys
Quaffing Pimms in pint glasses.
He’s a personality cult
In which the rich exult
Charmed by his roguish roles
A public school rotter
Possibly off his rocker
Who never questions his goals.
But in five years time
He will be past his prime,
His planet sterile like Mars
The party has moved on
His electoral magic gone
His future lies behind bars.
