Boris called today
in a rage about his hair,
gelled from back to front.
On his high, high horse,
got a party coming soon,
so, needs helping hands.
The party’s down the pan,
without a leg to totter on,
and drowning quickly.
The ceiling’s spinning,
so are the walls around him,
and closing in quick.
Reason is defied,
season greetings are finished,
everyone goes home.
