Brexit’s not a cereal to eat before your lunch;
not a tasty, crispy treat that you can bite and crunch.
Brexit is catastrophe that hits you in the wallet
and if you are a business man you feel it like a bullet.

It does not care for industry, just leaves a heap of dust,
nor does it care for farmers - so much for their trust.
It’s a kind of revolution so everyone must suffer
to prove that it’s the real thing it throws you in the gutter.

Like every revolution, it kills them ten by ten;
it does not spare it’s leading lights, eats it’s own children.
If you were take in by it, beware the reckoning;
Take y' then for all you had, every single thing.

And if you were remoaning as the dreadful day drew near
you better find a private way to flee and disappear.
Enemy of the people, you’ll first be for the chop
as someone has to be to blame for this enormous flop.

When the country’s ripped in four, all union to the wind,
the culprits will shout loudly, “It’s not we that sinned.”
They’ll go on with their havoc til the Nelson Column fall
and make singing Rule Britania obligatry for all.

So gird up your Dunkirk spirit - hail the nations great defeat -
and don’t be miffed or bothered if there’s nothing left to eat,
the government’s prepared for every thing that can go wrong,
the chancellor’s auditioning to be the next King Kong.

Get behind our blond, blind leader whose ambition got us here
as we were stupid quite enough to drink his poisoned beer;
following a pack of lies we look a ludicrous sight,
the world looks on aghast as, perverse and lost, we march into the night.

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