If every child in the country
doesn't get more packets of Old English Spangles
than they can eat in a lifetime
on the 30th of March,
Theresa May and her sorry crew
of twitching wankers will deserve everything
that's coming their way with the whistling hiss
of raging Furies ripped to their tits
on crack cocaine and Marmite.
You know I'm right,
you Brexiting clowns.
You Brexiting clowns.
You Brexiting clowns.