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A poem by my utterly deluded democracy denying father on Brexit

Tom Winnifrith
Friday 9 September 2016

I have noted before how my father's father, Sir John Winnifrith, was a spokesman for No in the 1975 Referendum but his son is cut from a different cloth. Like nearly all of my family, my Dad is a Guardian reading, money tree worshipping, deluded lefty enjoying a prosperous retirement thanks to a wholly unjustifiable public sector pension. And thus on June 23rd he voted remain and has now written a poem on Brexit. Its a good poem if almost entirely composed with lies and half truths.

Get over it Dad. I love you dearly but the great unwashed have spoken and stuck two fingers up to the establishment and the State funded classes - that is to say to folks like you. We, the people, won! Anyhow, notwithstanding that it is a good poem and so here goes.


So Brexit now means Brexit,
But what does Brexit mean?
Mrs May may know the way,
But it's not a way we've seen.

Aussie rules are made by fools
and won't keep Poles away.
Japs and Chinks and Yankies
Will want their say on pay.

Boris on his battle bus
laid down some loathsome lies.
Gormless Gove when beardless
Makes bearded Gove seem wise.

David Davis deals in deals
On details he's less clear.
Leavers keft in limbo
Now long for Project Fear.

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About Tom Winnifrith
Tom Winnifrith is the editor of When he is not harvesting olives in Greece, he is (planning to) raise goats in Wales.
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