The morning sun touched lightly on
The brains of Nadine Dorries
In an empty dusty cavern
Of an empty unused mind
As she snarled like a numptie
Dreaming of the big dog’s favours
‘Till the world turned to red
And the room went spinning round

At the age of thirty-seven
She realised she’d never
Ride through Whitehall in a sports car
With the warm wind in her hair
So she let her brain cells shrivel
And continued to drivel
Little nursery rhymes she’d memorised
From Tory head office

 

see also:

Sound Of A Cunt

Whip It Good