Tess o’ Westminster or
Sham no Banter
by Louise Ramsay
When Oor Theresa leaves The House
And nosy journalists wi’ nouse
Pit questions tae her in the street,
Her answers, polished, aye sae neat
Are jist as rigid as her plan
The one she’s tried so hard to ram
Doon MPs throats wi’oot success
How does she stay sae cool and fresh?
While loud Remainers in the square
Ca’ for a People’s Vote that’s fair
And MPs from her own back bench
With far less loathing of the French
And Germans than the other rebels
Are busy cooking up mair troubles
And join with Jeremy to demand
A guarantee to countermand
A No Deal Brexit - and defer
The deadline, kenning she’d prefer
That to Nae Brexit. Whit a mess!
Pair Theresa May. Pair Tess!
Oh Tess! Had’st thou but been sae wise
An ta’en thy own dear Phil’s advice
He tauld thee well thou was a skellum
A blethering, blustering, racist blellum,
That as Home Secretary had sent
Aboot the racist vans in Kent,
And London, Essex, Tonbridge Wells
Oxford, Cheltenham, the Yorkshire Dales
To trust that Boris was a folly
HIs lies on buses! Aff yer trolley!
Phil prophesied that late or soon,
Tae think aboot it made him fume,
Thou would be found deep drown'd in shit;
His own Theresa, slim and fit
Keeping company in the bars
An’ meetings in their armoured cars
Wi Westminster’s maist sleekit fowk.
Tae think of them it gars him boak.
Ah, gentle dame, it gars him greet,
Tae see the company ye keep.
Loud, deep, and lang, the internet roared
Through Twitter, Facebook till you’re bored:
You’d think, a child might understand,
The Deil had business on his hand.
Weel mounted on her private plane
A better never lifted wing--
Tess skelpit on o’er dub and mire;
Despisin' wind and rain and fire.
Whiles holding fast her Tory bonnet;
Whiles crooning o'er some English sonnet;
Whiles glowring round wi' prudent cares,
Lest Europe catch her unawares:
Brussels was drawing nigh,
Whare Eurocrats do nightly cry
In Tess’s mind. She crossed the channel,
And listened to their cant and flannel;
Those Eurocrats sae drear an dour
There, in Brussels Barnier smoor’d
Her ca’ for changes tae her deal.
Poor Tess, she tried sae lang and weel!
And flying back she’s tired and weak
And fa’s into the deepest sleep,
And dreams a dream, the strangest dream
A dream filled a wi foulest fiends.
She hears, in Westminster’s auldest bar
As she strides boldly up the ha’
Some loud resounded mirth and dancing.
And there she’s spotted Boris Johnson
His wild hair flying in a jig
It’s clear he disnae gie a fig.
What dangers thou canst make us scorn!
Wi' tippeny, we fear nae evil;
Wi' usquabae, we'll face the devil!--
The thoughts sae reamed in Tess’s noddle,
Fair play, she faced the deils wi bottle.
She ventured forward on the light;
And, vow! Tess saw an unco sight
Warlocks and witches in a dance;
Nae cotillion brent-new frae France,
But hornpipes, jigs strathspeys, and reels,
Put life and mettle in their heels.
By stained glass windae in the east,
There sat Rupe Murdoch, in shape o' beast;
A towzie tyke, black, grim, and large,
To gie them music was his charge:
He scre'd the pipes and gart them skirl,
Till roof and rafters a' did dirl.--
And though the bar is dimly lit,
Below a filament bulb they sit
By which heroic Tess was able
To note around the drinking table,
Weel intae a drinking game
Wi usquabe - their claes all gaen -
And weel awa wi cant an blether
- They had been fu for hoors thegither -
David Davis, Farage, Banks
The European Research Group, in their pants!
Michael Gove, Jacob Rees-Mogg
(Their faces jist like owl and hog)
Besides some ither low life rabble
That kept their comp’ny at their table
A thief, an MP charged wi rape,
And even now his flies did gape;
Three lawyers - their tongues, turn'd inside out,
Wi' lies seam'd like a beggar's clout;
Three bishops - hearts, rotten, black as muck,
And stinking, vile in every neuk.
As Tess glowr'd, amaz'd, and curious,
The gruesome sicht grew fast and furious;
The piper loud and louder blew;
The dancers quick and quicker flew;
They reel'd, they set, they cross'd, they cleekit,
Till ilka MP swat and reekit,
Dave coost his undies to the flair,
And danced aroond wi buttocks bare
Oor Tess, she’d never seen the like
Her Brexiteers in sic a light!
Then Boris ca’d in peremptory bark
‘Another flask of Cutty Sark!’
They passed it roon, a’ took a slug
Farage, Johnstone and Rees-Mogg
As Murdoch played, they danced aroon
Tae every nuance o’ the tune.
She ca’d oot ‘Boris! Jacob! Dave?
This is no time to dance a rave!’
But never did they heed her aince
They pranced aboot at greater pace
They looked like dafties in their pants
But paid no heed tae a’ her rants.
The penny drops, she mutters ‘No,
It’s to the Chamber I must go,’
Still in her dream, still here in Blighty
She’s feeling regal, high and mighty,
Tess sees herself, forever bolder
Riding high on Maggie’s shoulder!
She sees her chance to get her deal
Through Parliament while these men reel.
She hurries quickly doon the ha’
Her high-heels echo off the wa’
She’s on the benches making speeches
She pleads, implores, cajoles and preaches,
Her time is short for she mun get
O’er the line ere it’s too late
Afore the Brexiteers cam back
Fae drunken dancing wi that hack.
(This is her life’s work, no’ her hobby!)
The Members a’ pass through the lobby
And in her dream she wins the ballot
Even Arlene’s team are gallant.
The Labour Perty asks her pardon
She’s through by an enormous margin!
In her triumphant leader’s bark
She ca’s out ‘Well done Cutty Sark!’
And in an instant all is light -
She wakes up on her private flight.
Pair Tess. Awa home fae th’ airport
Phil asks her “Did get the deal you sought?”
She says “I told him - you must simply drop
That ridiculous backstop,
And then I’d win it with a song,
But bloody Barnier said “Non.”’
