Brexit Blues

by duncanr

Our Dad’s become a Tory,
He’s shunned the working class.
Commanded by the Daily Mail,
To kiss the Tory ass.

He’s backing Boris Johnson,
‘Cos they said to in the ‘Sun.
We’ve had to sell my X-Box,
But Dad’s getting Brexit done.

They’ve closed the shops on Market Street,
So mum has had the sack.
But . . .

dad is voting Tory,
‘Cos he wants our country back.

Our kid’s kicked out of school again,
They don’t do special needs,
But dad has swallowed all the crap,
From right wing twitter feeds.

It’s going to cost a fortune,
For nan’s replacement hip,
But that’s a tiny price to pay,
For stable leadership.

We’re eating from the food bank,
The boiler’s knackered too.
But dad’s total class betrayal means,
We’re free from the EU.

(M.Arnot 2019)

Tags: , , ,

22 Comments to “Brexit Blues”

  1. Seems like an accurate representation of logic of many people!


  2. Ah, but I bet it’s proper, wholesome British (stands and salutes . . .) water in that watering can.

    None of yer Froggie Evian muck.


  3. Oh, what are we going to do without a Mummy and Daddy telling us what’s right or wrong, or what to do ?

    “Dat is genoeg van je whining.

    Ga naar je kamer, je ondankbaar weinig shit !”


  4. What’s next?
    Independence for Scotland, Wales and Cornwall.

    Strangely, though, Morocco voted to remain in the UK by a majority of 1 vote to nil.

    The fun has barely begun.


  5. Independance for Yorkshire!

    Let’s get rid of the buggers.

    Give us an ‘I’


    Give an ‘N’

    “But ah buy me eggs from th’ASDA!”

    Give us a ‘D’

    “But ah’m too young to dee . . . ”

    Give us an ‘E’


    Give us a ‘by eck!’

    “Nah tha’s just bein daft, lad”


  6. By ‘eck lad – tha’s an eagle-eyed bugger, an’ no mistake.

    Ah teks me ‘at off to thee.


  7. Dear Sir or Madam

    I wish to complain most strongly about the derogatory comments on your site regarding the potential independent status of various regions of our soon-to-be-fucked-over nation.

    I would point out that we (the Scoarts) thought of it first, so the rest of you lily-livered bed-wetting sassenachs can just wait your turn.

    I would, however, concede that, as ‘the California of the UK’ Yoarkshire would, no doubt, make a good go of it. And nationalise fish ‘n’ chips.

    And as for Cornwall . . .

    Please apologise in writing, and in triplicate.

    Yours sincerely

    Nicholas Turgeon



  8. Dear missus Nickelarse.

    Wots widdee maid, Oi ubben got the furst bliddy idea of wot ‘ee be talkin ’bout.

    On top o’ that, you do wan’ fur me to rite to ‘ee in Trib Tric Tricu Triplicate.

    I dawn’t unnerstan’ them thar furrun tongues. I’s bad ’nuff ‘aving to rite in Heenglish.

    Amyways, can’t stay ‘ere natterin’, Oi gotten the Pigs t’ get in, cos it’s pizzendown, tez.

    See ‘ee ’bout, sometime, bird.





    (Received in an email. Probably from the Planet Kernow)

    Luke. I is yur faather

    Wuh ?



    I bleddyis

    Forreal ?

    An Leia’s yur sister

    Shit, I fancy ‘er

    Tis allowed in Cornwall


  11. Oh, go on then . . .

    Any excuse to re-post this wee gem.


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