The Fall of Boris Johnson — Christmas 2021
Tags: Boris Johnson, UK Politics, Satire, Poetry, Comedy

(A satirical verse after T.S. Elliot, 1939, by MsAnonymoux)

Johnson’s an Etonion; a privileged hooded claw

He’s supposed to be right honourable but he’s more the master criminal

Who tells tall tales to get his kicks, and cites magic numbers to make them stick

And dance around the Law.

He’s the bafflement of the Standards Committee,

He’s Cressida Dick’s despair

For when they roll out crime scene footage,

Johnson wasn’t there.

Johnson, Johnson, there’s no one quite like Johnson

They say he’s broken parliamentary law, the law of the land and then some

His powers of buffoonery make his cabinet drop their jaws and stare

For when you reach the scene of crime

He’s dressed up as a scientist, or serving up a haddock

Deflecting the sleaze that follows him or prancing in a paddock

You may seek him at a COBRA meeting when the country’s in despair

But he’s gone for a run with his mate Corona hovering beside him in the air

‘We know it was Johnson,’ the media cry

‘We’ve heard him lie but he doesn’t care’

For when things get controversial

Johnson wasn’t there.

Johnson’s thatch is blonder than blonde, he’s of average height but not so thin

He face adopts a tell-tale scowl and the eyes that lie are sunken in

They hold onto the camera as he blusters, faffs and spouts

His fleshy fists punch through the air

His head is down as he points and shouts

(And that is when the cooked-up stats and massaged figures all come out).

‘I won’t drink until after Brexit,’ he states

Sipping whiskey in a distillery

(Let’s not be hasty and quick to ban unethical gay conversion therapy)

At our hospitals, free parking for all

The nation’s poverty has declined

I’ve severed the link, I’ve covered the costs

I’m the vaccine hero, stand in line

‘Let the bodies pile up in their thousands’

Johnson said, then fudged it too late

He promised 40 hospitals but when we added it up there were only eight.

He idolises Winston, spinning war memes for the public

He cites new money for the NHS

But he can’t quite pull off the rhetoric

Johnson, Johnson, there’s no one quite like Johnson

They say he’s broken parliamentary law, the law of the land and then some

His powers of buffoonery make his cabinet drop their jaws and stare

For when you reach the scene of crime

He’s dressed up as a scientist, or serving up a haddock

Deflecting the sleaze that follows him or prancing in a paddock

You may seek him at a COBRA meeting when the country’s in despair

But he’s gone for a run with his mate Corona hovering beside him in the air

‘We know it was Johnson,’ the media cry

‘We’ve heard him lie but he doesn’t care’

For when things get controversial

Johnson wasn’t there.

Misrepresentation, things he might not really mean

A sordid kind of slipperiness and all the half-truths in between

(‘Proroguing parliament will be just fine’, he said to soothe the Queen)

Yet did you ever have a moment when you think you can’t have heard him right?

When the facts become more colourful

And solutions sound too wonderful

On bursaries and nurses’ plight

When he says that testing and tracing

Has little to do with the spread of disease

‘He’s botched-up Brexit,’ say the livid farmers

His pants are ablaze as he as he backslides with ease.

Johnson, Johnson, there’s no one quite like Johnson

They say he’s broken parliamentary law, the law of the land and then some

His powers of buffoonery make his cabinet drop their jaws and stare

For when you reach the scene of crime

He’s dressed up as a scientist, or serving up a haddock

Deflecting the sleaze that follows him or prancing in a paddock

You may seek him at a COBRA meeting when the country’s in despair

But he’s gone for a run with his mate Corona hovering beside him in the air

‘We know it was Johnson,’ the media cry

‘We’ve heard him lie but he doesn’t care’

For when things get controversial

Johnson wasn’t there.

That infamous house in Downing Street

A residence from whence world wars were directed

Now stands as a house of ill-repute where lying is regularly detected

There are allegations of ill-gotten gains going on behind the black front door

Of illegal parties and planned out raves

Of half-truths in the rose garden

(That epistemological wasteland)

Of deals with mates and care home blunders

Oborne thought he’d listed the gaffs

But found there are always more.

*

It’s December 2021 and all around the Christmas tree

Johnson finds Sunak, Truss and Raab joined in one thought of ‘will it be me?’

Johnson sighs and steps out from the fabled designer decoration

His lip is dropping and a tear rolls down as he turns to address the nation

(Nobody claps)

He bangs his fist and pronounces

It was a staff meeting, and it wasn’t me

We were carrying out an essential test of the taste of British cheese

Alongside new non-EU wine, there was no tinsel, there was no sleaze

There were no invitations, that was Carrie being arty

But the reason that I will resign

Is I wasn’t asked to attend in person

At any Tory Christmas party.

Up there on the podium, Johnson was all alone

No handshakes and no elbow bumps

Just a shaking voice and the tears of a buffoon.

‘As for the wallpaper,’ he says, ‘Do you really think I’d let Carrie fudge it?

I donned an orange overall and bought green paint from B&Q

(They give a great staff discount you know)

We never spent the donor’s budget.’

‘Instead I went to Ladbrokes, put all of his money on, then did it again

What bet? You say, The odds of the day

It was Rishi Sunak for Number 10.’

Johnson, Johnson, there’s no one quite like Johnson

They say he’s broken parliamentary law, the law of the land and then some

His powers of buffoonery make his cabinet drop their jaws and stare

For when you reach the scene of crime

Johnson wasn’t there.