Grate Expectation of Smouldering Members…

On Bonfire Night, On Bonfire Night
It’s time to set the land alight:
So load the faggots, pile the wood,
Stack the logs and stack them good!
Pile on effigies and guys
Of MPs who we all despise:
Put Mandelson and Brown up there,
With smarmy grin, put Tony Blair;
And heap the brushwood, build the pyre,
Strike the match and light that fire.

Upon each hilltop, fell, scarp, peak ‘n’
Tor we’ll light a cheery beacon
Where hated Parliamentarianism
Is met by stark incendiarism;
(Remember, Member, your offences -
We know you fiddled your expenses…)
And we’ll line up to light the torch,
To make the MPs singe and scorch,
Who’ll be first to strike the tinder
And burn each MP to a cinder?

Their tricks sent each and every peasant
Into rages incandescent;
Let’s stuff those dummies! Pile ‘em high,
Then launch them up into the sky
And laugh as all their stupid masks
Explode among the firework-sparks;
But can such jolly conflagration
Appease our bitter consternation
As we stand shoulder next to shoulder,
To watch those ‘Honorable’ Members smoulder?

The voters’ mood is clearly fervent
And keen to torch a ‘Public Servant’!
Once lit, among the fiery lumber,
Will MP Dumb and MP Dumber
Seem slightly less detestible
When proved to be combustible?
We loathe them all, across the board;
Each Member, unelected Lord,
And Baroness, all need a rocket
For stealing from the public pocket.

Shall we look on with gleeful gaze
As Ministers are set ablaze
And the tiny guy of Hazel Blears
Explodes to rounds of raucous cheers?
Shall Jacquie’s guy, stuffed all with porn,
Be left to smoulder on the lawn?
Shall Harman’s, wearing dungarees,
Stay smoking gently in the breeze?
And Jack’s, for it is stuffed with Straw,
Remain a-blazing upon the floor?

Or shall someone run to douse the flames
And shout a list of Members’ names
Who haven’t picked the public purse?
(Or anything remotely worse
Than scoffing freebie food all day
To supplement their meagre pay)
Would this list water down the spite
T’wards those who have been set alight?
Would Prescott seem less of a bag
If he had just the single Jag?

Take that clown Brown, who couldn’t risk it
And dared not name his favourite biscuit,
Is he OK because he paid
Back money used to hire a maid?
Shall we forgive those flipping gnomes
Who swapped their first and second homes?
Shall we say “Yes, we’ll pay for you
And pay much higher taxes too
As long as you can keep your moat
Weed-free so that your ducks still float.”?

Perhaps we’d better light that fire
And blue touch-paper, then retire
To somewhere safe to watch the glows
Build up until the whole thing blows
Those sorry bonfire-guys sky high
And if the real guys wonder why
We cheered as our guys blew away,
Remember, Member, Guy Fawkes’ Day,
When we commemorate a plot
To get rid of you shameful lot.

On Bonfire Night, On Bonfire Night
It’s time to set the land alight:
So load the faggots, pile the wood,
Stack the logs and stack them good!
Pile on effigies and guys
Of MPs who we all despise:
Put Mandelson and Brown up there,
With smarmy grin, put Tony Blair;
And heap the brushwood, build the pyre,
Strike the match and light that fire!

©Gloria Smudd