Coiffed like his idol, the Mentalist
The Tedious Git from Sydney
Is a sight to behold
He gives no quarters
To those around him,
A louche in speech
A louse in deed
In a beige blazer
Burbling blah-blahs from a belly
Rich in Bundy and coke.
And what of this prize nitwit ?
A moralist, yes
With a tongue of lard
A lead foot
‘You should be ashamed of yourself’,
He says to me with hauteur and contempt
But he should check his facts
Before such a tactless attack
But this Aussie man on the dias
Can’t help himself.
We should leave him be
To his inevitable fate
He wears his clothes like the Emperor.
It must be the latest fashion
To parade shrill ignorance and disingenuous
But wait a bit….
A sinecure must be found
For his magnificent talents
A high chair ? Something to rattle.
Perhaps a pacifier amongst the noisy, incoherent throng.
We should stage his grand exit
From the comedy of errors
A man who is destined to go far
And the farther away the better !