Young Karl Marx
Prowled the commons and the parks
In the darkness he would ****** with the lasses
Using tenderness and stealth
In his bid to share the wealth
With the working and the lower middle classes

Strolling about with the air of a breeze
She weaves through the leaves and the boughs of the trees
While sunlight is dwindling, shadows advance
But she casts them behind her and leaves them to chance
Nought but a speck with a filament crown
Jessica Thistleton, born of the down

Scratching through the pictures
Of a life he left for dead
Venomous the rhetoric
That runs around his head
Doomed to live in circles
Oh, his aching spine
Bitter Glynn Capacity
Limps the line

Complexion of a heart attack
The waistline of a barge
The bottle always empty
And the portion extra large
Panting on the staircase
Leaning on the rail
Wheezing Glynn Capacity
Looks quite pale

Rattling the cutlery
Quivering the hands
Addled by his impotence
No one understands
Deathly are the beads of sweat
Converging on his brow
Broken Glynn Capacity
Not long now

The news will say we're suffering from excess immigration
That a rampant hoard of foreigners has fallen on our nation
But truthfully, there hasn't been a native Briton here
Since people dressed in mammoth skin and hunted with a spear

Our language is a mixture of a dozen different tongues
We munch our way through poppadoms, fajitas and fu-yungs
When cheering at a football match, we're infamously vocal
Our teams may be the finest but the players won’t be local

Genetically, a Briton is a multi-cultured stew
With Romans, Saxons, Vikings and the Celts, to name a few
Our national drink is Indian, the Germans make our beer
The TV comes from China and the table from IKEA

Potatoes from America and onions grown in Spain
A multitude of British things arrive by boat and plane
The rain that falls upon our hills has blown from over seas
And with it come migrating birds to nest in British trees

The Royal Windsor family have Greek and German genes
So think about just what it is that being British means
We're stronger with our differences, the best of humankind
Our nation, not an island but a common state of mind

Why would I consider it
When never were you true
I never should reload it
And relinquish it to you
For surely would you use it
And still would I show surprise
At the sight of bridled malice
In such grey and lifeless eyes

The tools you used against me
Left scars across my mind
The will you took away from me
I happily resigned
A blame it hovers over you
But doesn't match your dress
If more I pile onto you
It seems I carry less

You placed such trust about me
And it grew too hot to hold
I dropped the warmth in front of me
And cursed about the cold
A shiver ran about me
Like a spider on my skin
My vision faded eerily
The room began to spin

Insanity beheld me
In my broken tepid form
It wrapped its arms around me
So comforting and warm
And showed me secret windows
Which no living eye should bite
With a light of truth above its head
It charged into the night

Adrift on her very first voyage
With the sea coursing in through her bow
Lay the cruise ship, the S.S. Lumbago
There was scarcely a chance for her now
But Ahoy! On the western horizon
In a flurry of yellow and green
That ender of blight and a damsel’s delight
And he’s always on cue for his scene

It’s Sir Patrick Stewart!
And his Luxury Budgerigar!
It’s got seating for seventy people
And the service is well above par
There’s an adequate medical unit
And a modest but elegant bar
What more could a man ever dream of
In a Luxury Budgerigar?
Well…

The forests of England were burning
So the foxes escaped to the city
The badgers had taken to looting
And the squirrels had formed a committee
But who should arise from a manhole
With a confident gleam in his eye?
That destroyer of woes with a spring in his toes
And he’s quick with a witty reply…

Sir Patrick Stewart!
And his Luxury Budgerigar!
With adjustable hose pipe attachment
It’s got wheels like a feathery car
The forests were dowsed and the fauna re-housed
With a three day retreat at a spa
It’s a thing to admire and surely acquire
The Luxury Budgerigar!
But…

Susan was stricken with sorrow
Twas her darkest, most fearful hour
A spider had wrestled her out of her bath
And set up his home in the shower
But who should jump out of the wardrobe
With an innocent look on his face?
That singer of shanties, remover of *******
And first in an obstacle race

Sir Patrick Stewart!
And his Luxury Budgerigar
With a sucker for spiders and beetles
That deposits them into a jar
There’s a tiny wee restaurant to feed them
It was given a Michelin star
A remarkable thing with retractable wings
Is a Luxury Budgerigar

So if you should be in a pet shop
And you see just the critter for you
Please heed this advice: make a note of the price
Then proceed to the back of the queue
When you ask for your preference of creature
Should it whistle, slither or waddle
Do as Sir Patrick Stewart did
And opt for the Luxury model

Gene and Jenny Taylor
Had long been man and wife
But a heinous disagreement
Took a hold upon their life
For each bemoaned their tackle
It was Gene who started first
He justified why dangly bits
Were easily the worst

“They tangle in your underwear
And twist themselves about
If I sit down in football shorts
They try to wriggle out
They chafe on nearly everything
They’re difficult to dry
And when it’s hot an humid out
They’re welded to your thigh”

Jenny swiftly countered him
“Well ***** are surely worst
For shaving is laborious
And not all lips are pursed
The periods are painful
With a week of aggravation
And we use three times the toilet roll
And cause deforestation “

But Gene had more to muster
“Well the ***** is a *******
And hiding an *******
Is a skill each man has mastered
They lead us into jeopardy
They always take the ****
And first thing in the morning
They’ve a tendency to miss”

So Jenny said “Vaginas
Are a curse between the thighs
And lady bits look monstrous
To anyone with eyes
They’re prone to thrush and fondling
And embryo gestation
***** are only any good
For use in aviation”

Gene and Jenny caught their breath
The stalemate was called
For genitals, the lips and *****
Or **** and hairy *****
Are vital to our species
More useful than they seem
And you’ll see a marked improvement
When they’re working as a team