Tuesday, October 27, 2020
Home News Yuletide tunes with Rudolph the Red-Nosed Remaindeer

Yuletide tunes with Rudolph the Red-Nosed Remaindeer

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Rudolph the Red-Nosed Remaindeer

Rudolph the Red-Nosed Remaindeer

Spouted very strident prose

LibDem from hoof to antler,

He followed every line of Jo’s.

All of the other reindeer

At first they only laughed and joked

But Rudolph quickly had them thinking

The Leave vote might be best revoked.

Then one foggy Christmas Eve

Farage came to say,

‘Rudolph’s nose is full of snot

And he’s talking through his bot.’

Then how the reindeer loathed him

And they shouted out with glee

Rudolph the red-nosed Remaindeer

Gallop off to Brussels . . . flee!

Good King Boris

Good King Boris he looked out
On the Feast of Brexit
When the snow lay round about
Clogging every exit.

‘Twas bright in Downing Street that night
Tho’ the frost could kill ya
When a poor man came in sight
With features half-familiar.

Hither Gove and stand by me,
If thou knowst it, telling
Yonder peasant, who is he?
Where and what his dwelling?

Sire, he lives a good league hence,
In Islington’s grim village

Surviving there on a few pence

And allotment swillage.

Bring me meat and bring me wine
(Late-vintage Rioja)
Thou and I shall see him dine
He really looks a shocker.

Gove and Boris braved the night

On them frostbite forming

Boris pulled his thermals tight

Where was global warming?

At Holborn Circus, caught they up

With the scarecrow figure

Now, quoth Boris, he shall sup

His belly shall wax bigger.

Plied they him with beef and grog

’Nuff to fill a four-bin

Then cried Boris, all agog

Why, gadzooks! ’Tis Corbyn!

We thought that all those years ago

With election failure

You Labour lot and LibDem Jo

Had sailed to Venezuela.

No, said Corbyn, once they knew

Their tickets were for steerage

McDonnell, Starmer, Abbott too

All took a Tory peerage.

Life since then has been no spree

I’m squatting in a coppice

To Downing Street take me with thee

And place me in high office

I’ll employ you in your need

Said Boris, if you’re willin’

A job where you can take the lead?

Yes, walking doggy Dilyn.

Away in the Commons

Away in the Commons, no crib for a bed,
The little Lord Jacob lay down his sweet head.
Outraged Hon Members they kicked up a stench,
As little Lord Jacob reclined on the bench.

The Speaker is yelling, young Jacob awakes,
But little Lord Jacob no apology makes.
I love thee, Lord Jacob! You’re just such a toff,
But get in your own bed next time you nod off.

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Amadeus Oldroyd
Amadeus Oldroyd is an amateur composer.

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