Captain Cunt

Bully Beef

When Johnson’s discharged from hospital,

I hope one of the senior staff,

Gives him the kind of verbal maul

You’d give a teenager, who for a laugh,

Drank bleach for a dare, quite recklessly,

And hence ended up in A&E,

Diverting valuable staff away,

From dealing with the everyday;

Something along the lines of: “Okay

Boris? Feeling better now are you?

Oh, we’re elated that you pulled through

Like George, smiting the dragon, eh?

Bursting with the spirit of Blitz can-do,

Heroically taking one for the crew.”

“Well listen here, you lump of fuck;

You only ever fought in a dream:

Lying there, bereft of all pluck,

While a brilliant, underfunded team;

The cream of our public services;

Ambulance drivers, doctors and nurses;

(People who’d never hide astray

In a fridge), kept the Corona at bay.

Those unsung heroes from overseas,

With the minimum of PPE,

Fought for you determinedly;

Missing their terrified families,

They risked their lives and ceaselessly tried,

Minus the basics you failed to provide.”

“A team of foreigners, subjected to

A cynical, xenophobic drip-feed,

In spite of-and it’s well known to you-

Their dedication, in times of need.

And why? Because that rhetoric plays

To tabloids, and people, set in their ways;

People who, incidentally, would know,

If only you’d given them the get-go,

How drastic things would turn out to be,

And, Instead of placing your clammy hand,

On every sick person in the land,

You’d taken things more seriously,

And not through hospitals, recklessly flew

With nothing but adulation in view.”

“Whilst you survived, too many have died;

Colleagues of mine, have met their ends,

The worst paid of whom, it can’t be denied,

Is a thousand times worth one your friends,

Some of whom, lacking morality,

Have made millions from this calamity;

Complacently smirking as we speak;

Creaming the profits week upon week.

And while this damage you’ve already done,

Thanks to your colossal unfitness, 

To hold the prime minister’s office,

Can’t be undone now by anyone,

Perhaps the time you were helplessly sick,

Will in your memory actually stick."

“For the first time in your charmed life,

Of pampering and super-entitlement,

Did you feel humble in the face of strife,

Away from Number 10 and parliament?

Were you frightened, staring into the void?

With struggling lungs, almost destroyed?

And as you lay there, did you grasp,

The sense of your phrase “Operation last gasp”?

What idiots you must take us for,

To Winston Churchill, self-comparing,

When you’re not even Captain Mainwaring,

Oh Boris, you really are a card for sure;

The only man you’ll ever be to me,

Is Captain Cunt with a capital C.”

"Maybe now, after facing real grief,

You’ll drop the personae of a boy’s-own,

Eton educated bully beef,

And return to office, maturely grown,

(Preferably with a cabinet brand new)

To do what you were elected to do,

By Mail addled serfs, Conservative led,

(Quite bafflingly so, it has to be said).

Or, perhaps Boris, even better,

You’ll send the Queen an urgent letter,

Telling her you’ve decided to resign;

That would indeed suit me just fine,

Being as I am, quite sick of your face,

You’re not a PM, you’re a fucking disgrace!”