Theresa May look ghastly
And she might give you a scare
Theresa May have racist views
And someone else’s hair

She May not like the common folk
Theresa May have rabies
And who can say, Theresa May
Eat other people’s babies

Theresa May tell porkies
May keep her cash abroad
Theresa and her colleagues
May be put away for fraud

Theresa May look lonely
Like she May run out of friends
And soon she might be signing on
For June is where May ends

**

A chap from the Isle of Wight
Took pleasure in creatures of flight
With bread on his hooks
He went fishing for ducks
Because chickens aren't nearly as tight

You annoy me very little and I hardly think it’s fair
To place a box of scorpions beneath your favourite chair
I so enjoy your snoring and your dodgy thyroid gland
I don’t stand at your bedside with a pillow in my hand
Your laughter doesn’t make me twitch or sound like mating seals
So I won’t be crushing any glass to sprinkle on your meals
Adorable, your litany of whys and wheres and ifs
I’ll not be booking holidays near isolated cliffs
I love your lack of empathy and sullen, lifeless eyes
No need for poison pancakes or exploding custard pies
If ever you should doubt, my love, the way I feel for you
Recall this host of nasty things I’ve managed not to do
Thus far…

Never stop and stay a night
At the Mermaid's Foot Hotel
For they say at the back of the cleaners room
There's a gateway in to hell
The drifts of dust with a dash of rust
Hide the prints of long dead feet
What once was plush now hangs decayed
The curtains torn and beds unmade
The worst of humankind had stayed
At the Mermaid's Foot Hotel

Walk away, should you ever stray
To the Mermaid's Foot Hotel
For its told an evil lingers there
No priest or witch can quell
The walls are strewn with satanic runes
There are evil clowns en suite
The bathroom tiles, black with mold
And tap heads dull with tarnished gold
But still the blood runs hot and cold
At the Mermaid's Foot Hotel

Not a soul survives the night
At the Mermaid's Foot Hotel
No single sign is left behind
Save a musty burning smell
The spiders leer, jauntily
And the mice all carry knives
There's scraping sounds amid the gloom
An Idol from an ancient tomb
With a poltergeist in every room
At the Mermaid's Foot Hotel

**

I’m burning last year’s diary
Farewell those blasted days
Those memories are turned to ash
In a smouldering malaise
The resolutions came and went
They barely left a mark
But now they’re just a puff of smoke
Expanding in the dark

I’m deleting last year’s twitter feed
There’s nothing there to see
No re-tweets of opinion polls
And hash tag R.I.P
So long the queues of angry trolls
Who meme instead of typing
Political lies, celebrity thighs
With constant over hyping

I’m having a lobotomy
To erase last year completely
I might just sit here dribbling
But I’ll do it quite discreetly
So raise a glass and think of me
While lost in celebration
I’ll be here in my padded cell
Under heavy medication

**

Billy loved his parsnip
He'd tend it day and night
To keep it safe from prying eyes
He stashed it out of sight
But one eventful morning
He awoke to such alarm
His parsnip had gone from puny
To the size of a baby's arm

Such growth was nigh unheard of
In a vegetable or fruit
So he bore it proud before him
Grasped expertly by the root
When he showed his doting mother
She was mightily impressed
So screamed a lot then swooned a bit
While clutching at her chest

The people at the bus stop
Shared his mother's admiration
But advised him that his tuber
Needed urgent relocation
So he took it in a taxi
Wrapped up in folded gauze
To the Guinness book of records
And he pushed apart the doors

His parsnip held protruding
With a confident advance
Like a knight atop his charger
With a huge organic lance
But security had seen him
They quickly knocked him flat
A policeman saw his parsnip
And he hid it with his hat

Billy served his sentence
For unsavory displaying
He changed his name to Danny
There's no record where he's staying
The moral of this sorry tale
Is far too dull to write
So learn your ****** vegetables
And know their names on sight

**

Ladies and gentlemen, stop and behold
Bid farewell to shingles, to gout and the cold
And a mighty assortment of general malaises
From cranial trauma to scratches and grazes
Your bones will be mended, no need for a cast
With acute tonsillitis consigned to the past
For I bring you a medical miracle cure
And the name of this potion you’re sure to procure?

Doctor Morcomb’s Tincture
From the institute of Scarborough
With a measured twist of alchemy
And three lumps of macabre
A drop or two will beat the flu
Retracting recent sneezes
Buy Doctor Morcomb’s Tincture
For all manner of diseases

Pungent red syrup can clearly be spied
Past the decorative label adorned on the side
A drop eases aching, a second for pains
A capful should rapidly unblock your drains
With daily consumption, whilst not recommended
The length of your tongue will be vastly extended
Avoid naked flames, never jiggle or jolt
Keep it cool, in the dark, in a circle of salt

Doctor Morcomb’s Tincture!
Most marvellous of potions
Farewell to bitter tasting pills
To liniments and lotions
Take only by the moonlight
And in arms reach of a swan
Now buy as much as time affords
By sundown, I’ll be gone