Malcolmjwells

You’re a lowly mongrel, an object of mirth.

I wonder your mother didn’t drown you at birth.

You’ve got no morals, your manners stink;

there’s a nasty rumour you’re a slave to drink.

You try to tell us you’re an ordinary bloke,

but that ‘Man of the people’ tag’s just a sick joke.

People are saying that you’re on the take,

I’ve heard of the dodgy deals that you make.

You’ve left your wife to live with another,

a woman old enough to be your mother.

So I spoke to the media and gave them your name

Someone has to put an end to your game.

Now having to do this makes me feel sick,

but throw enough mud and some will stick.

I’ve dropped some hints about your sexual leaning,

And let people discern just what I was meaning.

Now I’m not vindictive, I’m not that type;

don’t you believe all that media hype.

Okay I’m a slime, an unscrupulous slob;

but this time next week I’ll be after YOUR job.