Our Tone
Let Tony tremble. What, that waste of words,
That bag of wind, that pot-pourri of turds!
Satire is wasted on a thing so horrid,
Such width of mouth, such exigence of forehead.
And yet it might seem seemly to rehearse
His venal criminality in verse.
He went to war. For why? He thought it sweet
When children cheered him into Downing Street.
Those cheers would sound still sweeter in Baghdad.
And so he went to war. He was not mad,
Just vain and sly. His project was to please.
If lies were needed he could lie with ease.
And now, deposed, dishonoured king of kitsch,
He licks the bottoms of the super rich.
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