So Boris is in and the British are out,
No more compromising with Frog and Kraut,
Done with the blue flag with its circle of stars,
Done with its High Court whose judgment much mars,
Done with its bylaws that grow like a tumor,
Done with Eurocrats who don't get Brit humor.
Free, free at last, and free to fight their corner,
Free from the bonds imposed by the for'ner,
And soon to sit down to negotiate trade,
For Brexit ain't nothin' but a process unmade,
Great battles they'll have against much larger ships,
Who can do as they please or give Brits but tips.
Imagine Boris facing down the E.U.,
The City whittled down to services few,
Companies a-bolting for the Continent safe,
Leaving a few outlets all crying like waif.
He'll send out the princes to do a road show,
Hoping that Meghan can pull in some dough.
Or he turns to Prez Don and says "Let's do a deal!
I mean, we're such great pals and talk the same spiel!"
And Don just looks at him as fox to chicken,
Thinks to himself, "This'll be finger-lickin',"
And tells Boris first he must privatize all,
Now national health, then Westminster Hall.
In ten years' time the Brits will be wondering
Why why on earth! they did such a sundering,
How dumb they were to think the world was the same,
Where Great Britain held sway and kept the rest sane.
Like MAGA for Trump, for a golden time past,
This dark mood appears when folks know the dye's cast.