Or strictly whatever
Or out in the weather
United we stand
And divided we fall
But all the time
Within the lizards’ enthral.
The real question hasn’t yet been asked:
Do we want a place ruled by alien Royals
A fragmented memory of the middle old ages
Allowed to go on for snap-happy tourists
And blue-blooded sick o phants
How about a deep fried holding pen
Up along the lochs and the crags and the fens
Say yes to the people
And no to the Monarchy.