âtwas the night before christmas, when all through hyde park, not a londoner was stirring, not even pigeon (im making it London-y donât expect rhyming couplets honestly)
the beer cans were stood on the walls with care, in the hope that soon the bin men would be there
the tories were nestled, all snug in their beds
while visions of thatcherism danced in their heads
and mama in her beanie and i in my novelty Santa hat, had just settled our brains for a long winterâs nap
when out on the pavement there rose such a clatter
i sprang from my bed to see what was the matter
away to the window i flew like a flash
but i didnt call the police bc it was probs some drunken twats
the fog on the breast of the non-existent snow
gave shite all lustre to objects below
when, what to my wondering eyes should appear
a weird ass carousel ride and a really shiny forehead
with a plump lil driver, neither lively nor quick
i knew in a moment it must be david cameron
more rapid than socialists his coursers they came
and he hummed and shouted and called them by name
âNow George! Now Theresa! Now Hammond, now Hunt!â
âOn Javid! On Crabb! On, Greening and Rudd!â
To the top of the polls! To the porch of 10 Downing!
Now win away! Win away! Win away all!