If you tap him on the shoulder,
You might hear the hollow clang
Of that bright young lad of twenty
Who rebelled with a loud bang.
If you tap him on the noggin,
You might hear a whooshing sound
Like a half-full jug of water
Going round and round and round.
Collapsed to a Conservative
With Möbius strip mandate
And a penchant for conspiracy
On how to make things great.
Weighed down by the lost baggage
That he carried in his youth,
He will bend your ear all evening
With his version of the truth.
Now a garrulous old geezer
Bald and muchly overweight,
He was once a daring fellow
Who set out to set things straight.