Weeble

The would-be queen of Blighty land
Straddles UKIP and Miliband.
She has kiplits predicting her upcoming plans
While from Red Ed’s campaign shtick
Is busily nicking as fast as she can

With a flat for the earthing
She’s birthing a sham;
With a kitten she’s fishing
to reel in the JAMs.

There’s no substance;
No matter:
This one-woman-band
Is controlling the trust
As she grand-tours the Kingdom
She means to command.

She’s the coalesced boss of
The chaos at hand
And many have wondered:
How is it May stands?
But the Press and electorate,
Absent of light,
Keep on playing her song
And cementing her right
And a scaffold so strong
Keeps a weeble so long
As the pump and the heel
Are the deal in demand.

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