(Tune: g.co/kgs/5D1zEf )
You've heard of Julius Caesar and of Caesar salad too,
And how the English army on their own won World War Two.
But here's a page of glory that as yet remains uncut.
Of fightin' fartin' Farage and his mighty mounted foot.
They were battered, tired and tattered and they flattered to deceive.
But the zimmer frames were readied and the insoles all were cut
Scooter batteries charging for Farage's mounted foot.
Out from the rest homes came the squadrons and platoons
Four and twenty gammons and a couple of racist loons
Up with Tusk and Junker by God they'll never put
But fight for the right to fight for Farage's mounted foot.
Met a quiet German lady, told her: "Nazi, go back home".
And a nice remainer woman (which case she tried to put)
Got a punch straight in the kisser from Farage's mounted foot.
The marchers squeezed into the rear and Nigel got the horn.
Some grid-girls had been promised lots of money for a shoot.
Earned their pay, quit straight away Farage's mounted foot.
We cannot cross the sodding bridge, the sodding bridge is closed."
Nigel strode out smartly like a man-toad on the toot.
By lunchtime he'd absconded from Farage's mounted foot.
They looked for strength to Nigel but Nigel was not there.
He left without a farewell; not a "sorry", "if", nor "but"
The sad bedraggled remnants of Farage's mounted foot.
Back to the rest homes went the squadrons and platoons.
Four and twenty cripples and a couple of quiet loons.
It once seemed so important but there always is a but.
They soon forgot what got them hot - Farage's mounted foot.