Every night I go to bed,
Stuck with what he said.
My mind is just the same,
I'm dreaming he's in pain.
Paid with public money,
The fucker isn't funny,
If I could have my way,
He'd be sliced and diced today.
I'd collect together all his cash,
Every penny of his stash,
And spend it all on sausage skins,
To wrap him up and cover him.
I'd have him put in sausage form,
And eat him up to keep me warm.
I'd have him smoked and vacuum packed,
And placed upon the market rack.
Folk would come from everywhere,
Even those who didn't care,
All they'd need is just one joke,
To make them wish he'd never spoke.
What pleasure there would be,
In watching my TV,
No channel'd be a stranger,
For there would be no danger.
So I'd make myself a nightcap,
And a big fat sausage bap.
And I'd thank the BBC,
For football's finally free.