I do not like him on a train,
Or on a bus, or an aeroplane,
Or in a car, or on a barge
I do not like Nigel Farage.
I do not like his hair or eyes
I do not like his shape or size
I do not like his pints or fags
The points he makes, his finger wags
His supporters, or his entourage
And I do not like Nigel Farage.
I do not like him in debates, or in the pub
Or with his mates
For him, my glass, I’ll never charge
As I do not like him,
That Farage.
I do not like his ruse, his mission
To schmooze his way to a Coalition
I do not like his crude ambition
I do not like the guy’s skewed vision
I don’t like his yellow and purple rosettes
Or the bellowing manifestos he sets
Like the worst excesses…
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