Poetry Korner:
Regressional (after Kipling)
God of Our Fathers, down in Hell,
God of Thunder, Trees and Drums,
There’s still so much stuff left to sell,
So many contracts for our chums -
Lord God of Lies, fill up our cup:
There’s still so much left to fuck up!
Some crusties in a care home died;
The weirdos and the misfits swarm;
A mediocre place man lied
Because that kind of thing’s the norm -
Lord God of Death, please let us sup!
There’s still so much left to fuck up!
For thee we shrug off all disgrace,
Responsibility all ducked,
And give thee, Lord, this Track & Trace
That Dido Queen of Carnage fucked -
Lord God, we’ll sacrifice a pup!
There’s so much left still to fuck up!
And though our Prime Minister’s crap
And we fear his spermatozoa
Is past its peak, the poor old chap,
Blown out just like Krakatoa -
Lord God of Spaff, please let him tup-
There’s so much still Left to fuck up.
Until we’ve fucked up everything,
Destroyed the country, thieved it all,
Please heed this hymn to thee we sing
In our complacent, languid drawl -
Grant us your blessing as reward:
We fucked it up for thee, O Lord!
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